The Rebecca Felan Story
by Edgar-A.-Poe
Summary: Rebecca is a recently turned 11-year-old English muggle, until she gets a letter from Hogwarts. Set in the time of HP books. This is only part of my "canon" Rebecca story, but will not be continued. Full canon story is up and being added to.
1. An Owl at the Front Door

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing- J.K. Rowling owns it all. Yes, in this and later chapters I will possibly be borrowing from Rowling's books, but I will make it known so that I am not infringing upon anyone's copyrights (don't wanna step on any toes Oo).

**Author's Note:** Rebecca is not my first character that I've created for the HP world- she's actually my second, but my first was set more for the Marauder's Time/Harry's time. I may post that story as well. But, all things considered, this is my first HP fic that I've posted on here. Flames are welcome (though I don't really see a reason for them yet ;;) as well as critism or just plain old comments. I like comments. Anyway, I'll stop babbling so you can get onto the story.**  
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**Chapter One: An Owl at the Front Door**

"Becca!" called her mother's voice from downstairs. "Be a dear and go get the mail!"

The girl, her long, dark red hair sprawled out on her pillow, heaved a large sigh. "All right, mum!" she shouted, rolling off the bed.

The girl- Rebecca- had just turned eleven the day before, and had been treated as a princess. As soon as the clock struck midnight, however, it was as though her birthday had never happened. Her parents loved her, and she them, and though they always treated her kindly, it was growing ever-harder to grab their attention from their other child, Nicholas, Rebecca's older brother.

She tromped down the stairs, trying to cover up the sound of her elder brother's tale; it was obvious he had friends over yet again. A ball of laughter so loud was thrown her way, and she gritted her teeth. She hated her brother's friends. They always treated her like such a child, just as her parents did.

Rebecca reached the bottom of the stairs, only to find that the mail was not at the foot of the door where it normally was.

"That's strange," she wondered out loud, going to open the door. She turned the key and the door clicked loudly open. Pushing slightly, she found an owl sitting on her doorstep.

"OH!" the girl cried in fright, though the owl remained unmoving.

Rebecca, hand to her mouth, stared at the creature for a long while. It was a tawny-coloured thing, fairly large in size, with bright yellow eyes that blinked lazily back at her. She saw that it held all of her mail in its large talons.

"Nice birdie," Rebecca said quietly, kneeling down to the bird's level. "Good birdie… Can I have my mail now?"

Without warning, the owl took off, thrusting the letters at Rebecca, and once again leaving her crying with fright. She peeked out from between her fingers to find that the bird was gone, and quickly gathered the mail to go inside, nearly slamming the door behind her. She was clearly shaken up by the incident, but she didn't feel like explaining it to her parents, who would never have believed her anyway.

She began sorting the mail to calm her nerves. Most, as usual, were for her parents: bills, or something of the like. There was one for her brother, a subscription to a magazine of some kind; she'd give it to him later. What caught her eye was her name written in green ink upon a rather large envelope, one made of very old, yellowing paper, almost as if it had come from another time. There was no stamp. Placing the other letters on a tiny table nearby, Rebecca stared at the envelope for a long time before gathering up the courage to open it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Miss Felan,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

_Deputy Headmistress _

"Owl?" Rebecca asked herself quietly. "What the blazes are they talking about?"

She almost balled the paper up, but then took another look at it. She decided to ask her parents, to see if there was a new scam going around. Taking up the other letters, she walked from the entry way into a long hallway separating it from the kitchen. Upon entering, a burst of sound reached her ears, mostly laughter.

"And then I told, him- you'll never believe it!" her brother was saying.

"Mum," Rebecca said, tugging on her mother's sleeve. "Mum!"

Her mother waved a hand at her daughter. "One moment, dear," she sad dismissively.

"Mum, it's really important," Rebecca argued. "Look at this letter I got in the mail."

She shoved the letter into her mother's line of vision. Taken aback by the sudden appearance of something in her way, Mrs. Rosemary Felan pulled away from it. When her eyes had adjusted themselves, she looked the letter over, only her eyes moving. Then, she snatched it from Rebecca's grasp, scrutinizing over the letter.

"Get me the phone, Rebecca," her mother said quietly. "I need to call your father."

Rebecca did as she was told, going across the kitchen amid the laughter and antics of the four teenaged boys that sat around the table, unaware of the sudden change of mood in the kitchen. She took the phone from off the wall and went back across the room, holding it out to her mother, who took it quickly, frantically dialing the numbers to her husband's cellular.

"Roger, it's me," Rose said quickly. "No, no one's hurt, but I need you to come home immediately."

She paused.

"No, this is no joke," she said, looking down at the letter, then to Rebecca. "It's about Becca."

Rebecca heard the other line click soundly, and her mother turned the phone off, then handed it back to her. She took it and hung it back on the wall.

"Nicholas, it's time to send your friends home," she heard her mother say from behind her.

"Mum, what's the matter?" the sixteen-year-old asked, his voice showing concern for his mother's sudden change of attitude.

"I'll explain in a moment, but your friends need to go home," Rose said sternly. "I'm sorry, boys, but maybe another time?"

Rebecca watched silently as the boys were led from the kitchen and shown the door. When they left, she took a seat at the kitchen table, wondering what the big deal was about. She was confused and wanted an explanation. She crossed her arms over her chest in frustration and concentrated on glaring at the tile in front of her. Her mother entered the room a short while later, Nicholas in tow. The boy looked at his sister, shook his head, then took the seat next to her, putting his arms on the table in front of him for support.

Rebecca's father, Roger, came home about a half an hour later. Rose showed him the letter, and both were quiet for a very long time, looking at the old paper, then at each other, then at Rebecca.

"What?" the girl finally asked, becoming irritated with the looks they were giving her.

Both of her parents looked up at her. Finally, Roger approached her, letter in hand.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"Is it some sort of joke?" Rebecca asked. "Because if it is, I didn't sign up for it," she added defensively.

Roger shook his head. "I've heard about these people," he said, spitting out the last word as if it disgusted him. "There's been talk about it for a long while, but I've never believed it till now."

"What?" Rebecca asked. "What people?"

"Apparently, there _are_ such things as witches and wizards," her father told her. "And, I suppose, you're one of them."

Rebecca felt her mouth drop open. Magic was real? She had believed all those fairy tales as a child, but she was almost a teenager now, and the fairy tales had been long forgotten, along with the thought of there being magic in the world. Her family was so plain… How was it possible that she could be any different from them?

"They want an owl back from her," said Roger, looking again down at the parchment. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"An owl had it," Rebecca said, remembering how she had gotten the letter. "It gave it to me, along with the other letters, only about an hour ago."

"It must be how they communicate, the bleeding savages," her father muttered, glaring at the paper. "Well, I can tell you right now, you're not going to this school of theirs-- if you can even call it that."

He began shredding the envelope, letter, and all with his bare hands before tossing it into the garbage pail.

"No daughter of mine is going to be a freak," he said quietly, walking from the kitchen.

Rose went after him, leaving Nicholas and Rebecca alone. Her brother pushed her lightly.

"I always knew you were a loony," he said.

"Shut up," she growled back at him.

"Remember how I always told you that you couldn't _possibly_ be a part of this family?" Nicholas continued, ignoring her. "You've got red hair, not blonde, and your eyes are blue, not brown. You're adopted, that's why you're such a freak."

"I said shut _up_!" Rebecca said through clenched teeth, slamming her fist down on the table and glaring at her brother.

Without knowing it, her eyes were beginning to change colour. They went from the usually light blue to a faint yellow color. Nicholas didn't notice, and continued chiding her.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he asked, smirking at her. "Beat me up? I'd like to see you try, shrimp."

He stood as she did, laughing as she chased him around the table; he was always just a couple of steps ahead of her, always keeping at least two chairs between them. Rebecca stopped, grasping the back of a chair, and screamed. A vase sitting on a shelf just behind Nicholas' head suddenly exploded, making the boy jump nearly over the table.

Both parents rushed into the room.

"What just happened?" Roger asked, looking ready to fight the intruder he was sure had broken into their home.

"Dad, the vase just broke!" Nicholas said, clearly shaken. "It- it just _exploded_. I dunno what happened!" He was looking at the remains of the vase, which were strewn about the floor just under where it had been a few seconds before. "I was- I was teasing Rebecca, and she shouted, and it just… Well, look at it!"

Roger and Rose turned their attention to Rebecca, who still was grasping the back of the chair she stood behind. She was amazed at what she had just done. She didn't know how she had done it, but somehow, she knew that she had.

Sitting in her room, Rebecca had plenty of time to think. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her chin rested on her hands, which were on top of her knees. Her parents had sent her to stay in her room, without supper, a number of hours ago. They said they needed to sort out a few things. She'd looked out her window a couple of times, and seen quite a few owls perched outside their home, waiting patiently, letters gripped tightly between their talons or beaks. She knew the letters were for her. Once, her father had gone out to frighten the birds away, but they had merely risen up into the air, then fluttered back down to earth in a different spot in their front yard. Rebecca laughed at his stupidity.

Another hour passed, and Rebecca was staring out her window when she saw an older woman approach the end of her street corner. Growing interested, Rebecca stood and went closer to the window to observe the woman. She seemed to be looking for something, then spotted all of the owls and smiled before coming closer to them. With a wave of her hand, one flew to her and landed on her arm, surrendering the letter to her before flying away. The rest followed. It was one of the most amazing things Rebecca had ever seen anyone do. She saw the woman was dressed in strange attire: long, flowing green robes, and a large, green hat, that almost looked like the stereotypical witch hat she'd seen in old movies. The woman had wrinkles on her face, Rebecca could see as she got closer, and she had a kindly look about her, as though she could be a grandmother. The woman stopped in front of Rebecca's house, then went for the front door. Rebecca ran for the door to her room and went down the stairs two at a time to meet her at the front step.

Her father and mother got there before her, much to her dismay. Rebecca stopped on the fourth step from the bottom, and watched as the woman came into view of the opening door. She, who was clearly a witch, Rebecca decided, smiled at her parents.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Felan," she said in a shaky, yet very clear voice. "My name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I'm here to speak with you about your daughter."

"We know what you are, and we don't want any of it," Roger said harshly, about ready to slam the door in Professor McGonagall's face.

She held up her hand. "I want only a word, if you please," McGonagall said calmly. "If you wouldn't mind too much, I would prefer if we spoke indoors."

Roger considered the woman for a long time, then finally stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"Thank you," McGonagall said, stepping inside. She spotted Rebecca almost immediately. "And you must be Rebecca," she said, smiling up at the girl.

Rebecca nodded.

"Well, come here, dear, this concerns you as well," the professor said, motioning for Rebecca to come down the stairs.

Rebecca approached her, unsure, yet excited all at once. She could feel her hands beginning to shake slightly, and her mind was racing with all sorts of questions. McGonagall turned back to her parents.

"Where would be the best place to speak?" she asked the Felans.

"In the kitchen," Rose said, trying her best to be polite.

McGonagall nodded, then followed husband and wife to the kitchen, Rebecca scurrying along after them, eager to learn what this witch was doing at her home. McGonagall quickly made herself at home, taking the nearest seat, placing her hat on the table beside her. Nicholas, who was already in the room and pouring himself a glass of water, stared at the intruder, nearly spilling his drink on the counter. Fortunately, he caught it just in time.

"What's the meaning of you coming here like this?" Roger asked, wanting her to leave as quickly as possible.

"We've sent a number of letters just today to your daughter, Mr. Felan," McGonagall said. "But, I realised that since you are not of magical blood, you might not have understood the letter completely. So, the headmaster decided to send me here to talk with you, in person, upon this matter."

"I already answered you at the door, we don't want any part of your world," Roger said angrily.

"That may be the case, Mr. Felan," said McGonagall, her lips growing into a straight line and her voice becoming very serious, "but it is the decision of your daughter's, not yours, I'm afraid."

She looked to Rebecca, who stood silently in the doorway, listening in on the conversation.

"Did you look at the letter we sent you, Rebecca?" the witch asked.

"Yes."

"Do you understand what it is telling you?"

Rebecca nodded. "That I'm a witch."

"Yes," McGonagall said, nodding back. "Yes, you are." She paused, looking the girl over. "Would you like to learn about our world? Would you enjoy learning about magic at our school, where there would be hundreds of other students like you?"

Rebecca considered the sudden offer, taken aback at what she was faced with. She could feel the eyes of her parents and brother upon her. Her father glared at her, almost daring her to say yes. Her mother had a look of compassion mixed with fear for the unknown. Her brother was simply shocked; his little sister had never received this much attention over anything, let alone run the risk of disownment.

"What would I do there?" she asked, stepping closer to the witch.

"You'd learn how to harness your power, use it to your advantage," McGonagall explained. "You'd learn about witches and wizards of the past, and what all has happened in the wizarding world, and how we get along with muggles- that's non-magical people."

"Rebecca, I will not have you going to any school like this!" her father said loudly, ripping the girl's attention from the witch back to him. "It's a conspiracy against the government, and the Queen mother! And I won't have it."

"Mr. Felan!" McGonagall said, so shocked, that she stood. "We have no reason to go against the government of this great country, let alone the Queen. This is a school for those who possess the power of magic, and I will not allow you to stand between this girl and Hogwarts!"

"_If_ she wants to go!" shouted Roger, his face turning red from anger.

"Yes," said McGonagall, subdued for a moment. She looked back to Rebecca. "Well, child, what is it that you wish to do? Do you want to remain a muggle, or will you go to Hogwarts?"

Silence filled the entire house; it seemed not even the ceiling fan dared to make a sound. Rebecca thought, weighting the situation again in her mind. Going to this school would bring her new experiences, as well as get her away from her family, whom she was sure wouldn't miss her very much anyway. Then again, if she did go, it was likely her family would not wish to speak with her, and she would be forced to create a new life elsewhere in England-- a daunting aspect of the choice for one so young.

She bit her bottom lip, a habit she had developed that annoyed her parents. In fact, she thought, nearly everything she did annoyed her parents, so how would this be any different? She wasn't particularly close to either of them or her brother, and she had only a few friends at school, and none of them were as good as they claimed to be. It seemed the only right thing to do was to press the "restart" button for her life, whereas before there had been none. Now that she had the chance to do it, what was she waiting for?

"Hogwarts sounds great," she told McGonagall with a smile.

Her father's face turned a bright red, and he stormed from the room; Rebecca could track his movement with the sound of his thundering footsteps through the house. McGonagall grinned down at her.

"Very good," she said, holding the letter to her. "I'll be back for you on August the thirty-first, to help you gather you supplies."

Rebecca's grin only grew wider as she took the new sealed envelope from McGonagall. "Thank you," she said. "I'll show you the door… professor."_Head_


	2. To Diagon Alley We Go

**Disclaimer:** Again, I own nothing- it's all J.K. Rowling. (The amazing woman that she is.)

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**Chapter Two: To Diagon Alley We Go**

Rebecca woke extremely early by her own accord on the morning of the thirty-first of August. McGonagall, on leaving that day that seemed so many ages ago (though it had only been less than two months), had told her she would be by around nine in the morning to take her to get her supplies. It would probably be the last time she would see her family for a while, unless she chose to go home during the winter vacation. She would definitely have to think about that.

She began to put some of her things inside her suitcase. McGonagall had told her that taking her muggle clothes was unnecessary, unless she wanted to, for she would be getting new clothes along with her school supplies. Rebecca decided to bring along a few of her things, especially a dress or two that she had; she'd been told that Hogwarts was known to throw a ball or two every few years.

She brought it downstairs with her, then went into the kitchen to get something to eat. She found her father sitting at the table, his head in his hands. When he heard Rebecca enter, he looked up and watched her as she got out a bowl, a spoon, and a box of cereal.

"Rebecca," he said, getting his daughter's attention, "I won't allow any of this… this magic into my house."

"Sorry?" Rebecca asked, not sure she had heard correctly.

"I won't have any owls or magical spells or whatever it is those people do be brought here," he said firmly. "If you wish to contact us, you'll do it by regular post, or not do it at all."

"What if I get homework?" Rebecca asked, shoving the cereal box back into the cupboard. "What am I supposed to do then?"

"I won't have it in my home," her father repeated slowly.

Rebecca turned to the refrigerator to grab the milk for her cereal, ignoring her father. He could be so irrational sometimes.

"The neighbors will wonder when I'm gone," she said, trying to annoy him even more. "What will you tell them? That I died?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Rebecca, it's most unbecoming of a young lady," he said sternly. He sighed. "Well, we can't have the neighbors know about this… they'll send us to the loony bin, they will." He thought for a moment, beginning to slowly spin the mug full of hot tea he had before him. "We'll tell them that you'd gotten out of hand over the summer… so we sent you to a Catholic boarding school."

"But we're not even Catholic, dad," Rebecca said, stopping the movement of the spoonful of cereal to her mouth.

"No, but when young girls are problematic, they get sent to a Catholic boarding school," he argued. "If _only_ that's where you were going…"

"Why are you so against them?" Rebecca said, feeling hurt and attacked personally. "I'm one of them now, dad! The least you can do is _try_ to act like they aren't the bloody scum of the earth!"

Her father gave her a harsh look. "Watch your tongue, Becca," he warned her.

Rebecca stabbed at her breakfast with her spoon, finally scooping some into her mouth. "D'you want me home for the holidays?" she asked. "Winter break?"

"I think it would be better if you were to stay there for the entire term," her father answered, his voice showing no emotion.

"Fine, then, I will," Rebecca said, shoveling the cereal into her mouth as quickly as she could. She finished within a minute, then put her bowl into the sink with a loud "bang". "Maybe I won't come back to this house, then, since it seems I'm not even worth your time anymore!"

She paused, and her father looked as though her were going to answer, but she cut him off.

"No, I was never worth your time," she said, her upper lip growing into a sneer. "You only had time for Nicholas, your precious _son_. Mum never gave me more than a second glance after I stopped wearing diapers! Thank God I'm getting away from you people- I dunno what I was even thinking when I considered _not_ leaving!" She shook her head, but before she would allow herself to say another word, she left the kitchen quickly, heading back up to her room and slamming the door behind her, locking it shut. She didn't come out until she saw McGonagall coming up the street again.

She ran for the door, grabbing her suitcase that was out in the hallway, where she'd left it earlier that morning. She threw open the door just as McGonagall was about to knock.

"I'm ready," Rebecca told her, coming out to meet her. "Let's leave now."

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your family?" McGonagall asked, confused.

"Those people aren't my family," Rebecca said through gritted teeth. "Can we please _leave_?"

"Yes, of course," McGonagall said, watching the girl as she closed the door behind her.

They walked from the house and down the street, where they stopped. McGonagall looked both ways down the street before bringing out her wand.

"Remember this, Rebecca," she said, looking at the young girl behind her, "if you're ever in trouble, there is a thing called the 'Knight Bus' that will always come and pick you up. All you have to do is hold out your wand hand like so…"

McGonagall held out her right hand, which clutched her wand tightly. A loud cracking sound rushed through the air, and Rebecca almost jumped, but kept herself calm as a light blue double-decker bus appeared before them. McGonagall waited for the door to open, and when it did, stepped up and in. Rebecca followed suite.

"Seven sickles each, please," said a man, holding out his hand.

Rebecca watched as McGonagall handed the man fourteen small silvery pieces that looked a lot like bolts to the small man.

"Here you are, Stan," she said with a smile.

"Thank you, professor," Stan replied with a crooked smile. "Now, eh… 'Ho's the young girl?"

"A new Hogwarts student, muggle-born," McGonagall explained quickly. "I'm taking her to get her supplies from Diagon Alley."

"Imagine yeh'll be wantin' the Leaky Cauldron, then, Miss?" Stan asked.

"Yes, please."

The man nodded, then turned to the driver. "All righ', Ernie, take 'er away!"

The bus shot forward, and Rebecca lunged backward forcefully. McGonagall, who had known to grab the nearest pole, reached out and took Rebecca by the hand, keeping the young girl from falling.

"That is the only thing I do not like about this bus," the professor said under her breath. "But it takes you to where you need to be… and very quickly."

"What were those things that you gave him?" Rebecca asked after she had gotten her footing back.

"Those were sickles," explained McGonagall. "They're only part of the wizarding world's monetary system. There are also galleons and knuts. There are twenty-nine knuts in one sickle, and seventeen sickles in one galleon. Do you think you can remember that?"

"Twenty-nine to one, seventeen to one," Rebecca said. "Yeah, I think I can. Much simpler than the muggle system, anyway…"

McGonagall smiled. "You're catching up on the terminology quite nicely," she said.

"I'm good with languages," Rebecca said with a shrug. "My only talent in my parents' eyes."

"Not anymore," McGonagall replied with a smirk.

Rebecca met her gaze with a smile. She liked this woman already. "So, I was looking at my list some more, professor," she said, bringing out the old piece of parchment. "And I'm not quite sure where we'll be getting all of this."

"Diagon Alley," the older witch said simply. "That's why we're going to the Leaky Cauldron first: it's the nearest entrance to Diagon Alley."

"What is Diagon Alley?"

"One of the major shopping areas in all of the wizarding world- at least in England. The other is Hogsmeade, but only third year students and up may attend while at Hogwarts."

"You mean other nations have wizarding communities, too?" Rebecca asked, astonished.

"Of course," McGonagall said. "And our Ministry of Magic is in contact with every single one of them, including the British government. But not many people, muggle and magical alike, are aware that we have contact with the British Prime Minister."

Rebecca considered this for a while before looking back to her list. "It says that I can have a pet of my choice," she said. "But I don't think I want an owl… my father told me that I was to use muggle post if I was to contact him."

McGonagall frowned in thought. "Well, you could get a cat," she suggested. "Or a toad, or a rat."

Rebecca made a face. "I'm not much of a cat person," she said. "Toads are nice, but not very good pet material, if you ask me. I'll get a rat- I've always wanted one, but my mum would never allow me to. She said it wasn't very lady-like."

McGonagall smiled at that. "If it helps any, dear, my mother was always concerned with me being lady-like, too," she said. "She would have a right fit if she could see me now."

Rebecca laughed quietly.

"Leaky Cauldron!" Stan suddenly called. The bus came to a screeching halt, and Rebecca was almost thrown forward, but caught herself on the pole.

"Let's keep moving, shall we?" McGonagall asked, going toward the front of the bus.

"Yeh learn fast there, little lady," Stan said to Rebecca as she passed him.

"Thank you," Rebecca said with a smile. "Goodbye."

"'Bye, now," Stand replied, waving slightly to her. "'Member, if yeh're ever in need, jus' call on the Knight Bus!"

As soon as McGonagall and Rebecca had stepped onto the pavement, the bus was off, dodging its way through traffic. None of the other cars paid it any heed, which surprised the girl.

"How-?"

"Muggles cannot see anything magical, especially the Knight Bus," the professor explained. "Their minds aren't open to it; they don't have the knack for it like we do. And you'll find that some buildings, like the Leaky Cauldron, have incantations placed on them that make them imperceptible to muggles."

She turned around, Rebecca following her gaze. Before her stood a tiny, crumbling, old building shoved between a book shop and a record store. Sure enough, just as McGonagall had said, all of the people who passed the Cauldron seemed not to notice it.

"The entrance to Diagon Alley is beyond the Leaky Cauldron," continued McGonagall, starting for the door of the building. "This is where you'll be staying tonight, so that you may board the Hogwarts Express tomorrow."

Rebecca nodded and followed her. McGonagall led her inside, and introduced her to Tom, the kindly old bartender of the Leaky Cauldron. McGonagall gave Tom Rebecca's suitcase, and asked if he would put it up in the room she had rented for her. He said that he would. The man also seemed kind enough, and very accepting of the fact that Rebecca was a muggle-born.

"Not all wizards are like me, though, young miss," he said as a warning. "And to all those who don't like muggle-borns, I say that their mindset is complete bullocks!" He cackled, his smile lighting up the room.

"Thank you, Tom, but we really must be going," said McGonagall, taking Rebecca by the shoulders and leading her toward the exit.

"It was nice meeting you," Rebecca said over her shoulder to the man as they left the Cauldron.

They were now facing a wall, and Rebecca was confused. McGonagall brought out her wand, and tapped a few bricks, and the wall began to rumble. Rebecca took a step back, but found that the wall simply opened up, just like a door, though the bricks went sideways instead of forward or backward. McGonagall took a step through the doorway, and Rebecca followed, watching the doorway carefully as she passed through it.

"This, Rebecca, is Diagon Alley," said McGonagall, smiling as she looked about the area full of bustling witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.

Rebecca was amazed at the vastness of the Alley. She stared about her for a long time, until McGonagall called her back again.

"Did you bring any muggle money with you?" the woman asked.

"Oh, yes," Rebecca said, digging in her pocket. "My mum gave me loads of cash. I wasn't expecting her to, really, but she said it was the least she could do." She handed it to McGonagall.

"We'll get this converted to wizard gold immediately," she said. "And we'll set you up a vault at Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Be sure to keep close to me, Rebecca, I don't want you to get lost on your first time to Diagon Alley."

McGonagall moved quickly through the crowd, as though she'd been doing it her entire life. Rebecca tried to keep up as best she could, but McGonagall eventually had to slow down to accommodate the girl's slower pace. They finally came to a large white building that was leaning slightly to the right.

"I warn you now," said McGonagall suddenly, still walking, "that Gringotts is run by goblins. They're fierce creatures, but you'll have nothing to fear from them as long as you're not trying to steal anything from the bank."

As they entered, a goblin with a clever face, a pointed beard, and very long fingers and feet, bowed to them. He was about a head shorter than Rebecca, and she tried not to stare, but found that she couldn't help it; she'd never seen a creature like him before. Once they had passed those doors, they met another pair of them, with a message engraved upon them:

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of green,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

"You weren't joking, professor," Rebecca said, swallowing hard as she read the message.

McGonagall chuckled. "Don't worry, Rebecca," she said as she approached another goblin. "I'd like to create a vault account for this girl."

The goblin looked up, peering over the counter down at Rebecca. "Name?" he asked, his voice neither high nor low pitched, but very raspy.

"Rebecca Michelle Felan," the girl answered quickly.

"She is a muggle-born, so she will need this exchanged for wizard gold," said McGonagall, placing the money Rebecca had given her earlier.

The goblin nodded. "How much of this will be taken to her vault?" he asked McGonagall.

"We'll take a few galleons," McGonagall answered. "Fifty ought to do the trick, I think."

"Very well," said the goblin. "I will return in a moment, please wait here."

"How much will that money come out to be, do you think, professor?" Rebecca asked.

"Well, dear, I was never very good with muggle money," McGonagall said honestly. "But I can tell you that muggle money isn't worth as much in wizarding gold."

This surprised the girl, and it was apparent to McGonagall, for she laughed.

"It may seem absurd now, but you will understand in time," she said. "And you'll find that you're at an advantage over most wizards who've grown up in a wizarding family, because they'll have never been to the muggle world, most likely. You'll have much to teach some of the students at Hogwarts, I think."

The goblin returned quickly and handed McGonagall the fifty galleons she had requested. "The total amount of gold comes out to be, including the fifty galleons I have just given you, four hundred galleons, eleven sickles, and twenty-one knuts," he said. Then, he brought out a small key. "They are all in vault number eight-hundred and twenty-two. Remember your vault number, young miss, and keep a hold of this key, and you will be able to access your vault whenever you wish."

Rebecca took the key from his hand, careful not to touch his long fingers. She wasn't afraid of him, she just didn't know if he would be offended if she did.

"Thank you," said Rebecca quietly.

The goblin nodded curtly before returning back to his paperwork as McGonagall and Rebecca turned to leave.

"First things first," McGonagall said, "let's get you a wand…"

Rebecca grinned. Her very own wand. With it, she would use all of the spells she was sure to learn at Hogwarts. Most importantly, she would be able to impress her parents, maybe even frighten them a bit.

"Here we are," said the older witch, stopping in front of a shop that proclaimed: "Ollivanders: Maker of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.".

"382 B.C.?" Rebecca asked, mostly to herself.

"I'll leave you to pick out a wand, Rebecca," said McGonagall. "Pardon me, let the wand choose _you_."

Rebecca looked to her. "Won't you be coming in with me?" she asked.

"I'm going to pick up your books, to save us some time here," she said, handing Rebecca some gold. "Here you are… It shouldn't be more than eight galleons. If it is, wait for me and I shall return within a few minutes. Good luck, dear."

McGonagall turned and began walking toward the other shops. Rebecca stood in front of Ollivanders, staring at the shop with a mixture of fear and excitement. Finally, she went inside, and heard a bell announce her arrival far in the back of the store.

"Hello?" Rebecca called softly, looking around the dusty interior of the store. "Anyone here?"

She saw that the walls were lined with rows upon rows of boxes, but what they had in them, she could only guess. She felt the hairs upon her neck begin to prickle; it felt as though magic was making the very air and dust itself tingle.

"Good morning," said a soft voice. Rebecca was nearly startled, but looked upon an old man with wide, grey eyes shining like moons through the dusty shop.

"Morning," Rebecca replied weakly.

The man considered her for a minute, looking her up and down, finally settling to looking at her facial features. "I don't recognize you," he said. "You seem faintly familiar, though… Are you muggle-born?"

Rebecca nodded.

"That'll be why, then," said Ollivander. He moved closer. "My name is Ollivander," he said, extending a hand to her. "Welcome to Diagon Alley, and to my shop."

"Rebecca Felan," the girl answered, taking his hand and shaking it lightly.

"Pleasure," he said, smiling. "Now, since this seems your first time in the wizarding world, you need a wand…"

He shuffled to the back, then turned around and looked at her again before looking back to the wall of boxes. He wrapped his fingers around his chin in thought before finally reaching for one that was just above his head. He brought it back to the counter, where he set it down and opened the box, bringing out a long, thin piece of wood. He carefully walked it to Rebecca.

"Try this one out, Rebecca," he said kindly, holding it out toward her. Suddenly, he took it back. "Your wand hand is…?"

"Well, um… I'm left-handed," Rebecca said shyly.

"Oh, no, no, no, then," said Ollivander, nearly running back to the counter.

Rebecca watched this strange man with an open curiosity. She moved closer to the counter, so that she could see him more clearly near the back of the store. She had to cover her mouth with her hand as he began muttering to himself, as if questioning which box to choose next.

Finally, he brought a box forward, glancing over Rebecca as if with a knowing eye. "I think I've got the one for you, Miss Felan," he said gently, smiling at her. He placed the box on the counter and extracted the wand.

Rebecca admired the polished wood of the long, thin object. Its reddish-brown color reflected the light ever so slightly, and the wand seemed to sparkle around the edges. Instinctively, Rebecca reached for it, but Ollivander kept it from her grasp.

"Tread cautiously," he warned in a general tone before allowing it closer to her outstretched hand. "This is made from an old, old alder tree, with the heartstring of an even older dragon serving as its core… Give it a wave, miss."

Rebecca's fingers gently took it from the older man's grasp. Nothing happened immediately, no physical changes occurred, but the young girl felt a change come over her. She felt almost an unseen power flowing from the wand and into her fingers. Without even thinking, she waved the wand at the front desk, where the box the wand had been in lay.

Without warning, the box lifted gently into the air. Rebecca smiled, and began moving the wand away from the box; it followed obediently. She looked to the old man, and found that Ollivander was grinning.

"Extraordinary," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked to Rebecca "I did not even have to measure you, my dear girl; I merely guessed that you had a certain power in you." He nodded. "And I was correct, it seems." He cocked his head in Rebecca's direction as the girl set the box back down in its original spot.

"That dragon's heartstring you have there was a very powerful species, nearly as power as he was old," Ollivander told her. "He was a Hungarian Horntail, a very large and terrifying creature when you angered it. I sense the same in you: placid when left alone, with a fiery temper ready to spring forth when needed."

He stared at her for a while, and Rebecca began to feel uncomfortable. She finally cleared her throat, which appeared to bring this strange man out of his silence.

"For a wand such as that, it will cost you no less than eight galleons," he said, winking. "That's a special price for you, my dear; I expect great things from you."

Rebecca smiled, fishing out the galleons from her pocket and handing them to the Ollivander. "Thank you," she said gratefully.

"Good luck," he said, closing his hand quickly over the money with a smile.

Rebecca placed the wand in her pocket, then turned to leave, then looked back at him over her shoulder. "Goodbye," she called to him. He gave a slight wave in return, but that was all.

Then the girl found herself on the streets of Diagon Alley, with not a clue as to where to go. She looked up and down the crowded street, but could not see any signs of Professor McGonagall. Rebecca bit her lower lip, beginning to feel the pangs of fear creeping up within her. She calmed herself quickly, disappointed that she would so easily slip back into her old muggle self. She was a witch now, and she needed to be strong if she were to survive in this new and queer world.

"Rebecca!" she heard over the crowd.

She looked to see McGonagall fighting her way through the crowds. When the woman finally reached her student, she was breathing a bit more heavily than usual, but was fine. Rebecca noticed the load of books the professor carried, and took some from her.

"Thank you, my dear," said McGonagall, heaving a sigh of relief. "I don't know why everyone has decided that this day is as good as any to shop, but I suppose they are last-minute shoppers, all for the new term." She looked down at Rebecca. "Come, my dear, we're off to get you the rest of your supplies."


	3. Platform Nine and ThreeQuarters

**Disclaimer: I own nothing- and I love J.K.R. because she's amazing.**

**Author's Note:** Be amazed that I got this up so quickly. School might be getting a bit crazy, as well as my life outside the internet (as much as I try to hold onto it, lol), so I _may_ be posting less frequently. But I'll probably find time to write tonight and this weekend, so I may be wrong. Let this serve as a warning, though. All right, onto the story.

**Chapter Three: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters**

McGonagall had arranged for Rebecca to stay at The Leaky Cauldron for the night. She told the young girl she had planned on allowing her to go back to her family one last time, but after seeing how they treated their only daughter, she decided it was better this way. Rebecca silently thanked her.

Before the older woman had disappeared for the night, Rebecca had given her a hug. McGonagall seemed shocked by this at first, then patted the girl on the shoulder, reminding her of what to do tomorrow.

"Tom will show you the way to the platform, dear," she had said. "There's no need to worry." She pulled away from the girl and patted her shoulder again, just for reassurance.

"I know, Professor," Rebecca had said. "I'm not afraid anymore." She managed a tiny smiled.

It was now morning; the poor girl hadn't managed an ounce of sleep, holding onto her new pet rat, Ambrose. He was a big fellow, not obese, but rather large, even for a rat. He had pure white fur that covered his entire body, except for his tail of course, and his ears had small black patches on either tip. Rebecca had thought him a beautiful rat, and since she had no reason for an owl, like she had told McGonagall, she had chosen him. His name had come from a character in a book she'd read once, but had long forgotten everything about but that name. She was very happy with her choice, for he kept her company. He seemed almost too intelligent to be a normal rat, but she didn't give it much thought.

She spent most of the night reading her schoolbooks, trying to digest all she could before she was to go to Hogwarts tomorrow, so she would not be at a total loss. Rebecca was beginning to think that this task was nearly impossible. But she kept on, and soon learned many things, from how the Hogwarts worked, to some spells, even some potion names and ingredients. She could tell she was going to really enjoy potions. She loved to cook, so she decided that this wasn't much different at all, only that you couldn't always drink the byproduct.

She also read something that truly intrigued her. There were many mentionings of a certain dark wizard who had come to power many years before, about ten to be exact. The book did not say his name, only referred to him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or the Dark Lord. He had gone to the Dark Arts many, many decades back, and had begun to gather followers called Death Eaters. All who joined He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were for the purification of the wizarding world. That meant no muggle borns or half-breeds; only the pure could survive. People lived in terror during the time of the Dark Lord's rule. He reigned supreme until one day, again about ten years ago, when he wished to vanquish a family of his enemies called the Potters. The two elder Potters, Lily and James, had died while trying to save their infant son named Harry. Curiously, Harry had survived _Avada Kedavra_, described in the text to be an Unforgivable Curse- one that would kill no matter what. But, Harry survived with only a lightening bolt scar on his forehead to show for it, and the Dark Lord had not been heard of again. Rebecca found all this fascinating, especially when she learned that he was her age. Maybe she would get to meet this Harry Potter.

Rebecca had packed all of her things by seven a.m., waiting for Tom to come retrieve her to take her to Platform 9 ¾ with an excitement she couldn't begin to describe. She had wondered about the name of the platform for the longest time, trying to understanding how a platform could even _be_ three-quarters. She gave up after an hour of considering this; it was giving her a headache.

Ambrose was scurrying across her shoulders, back and forth, when the knock came on her door. Tom poked his head in the room, grinning.

"Good morning, you miss," he said politely. "Are you ready?"

Rebecca stood anxiously. "Of course, Tom," she said, beginning to get her things. She had very little: only a trunk full of her school supplies, clothes, and rat food, as well as Ambrose's carrying case.

She approached him at the door and did not allow him to take her things, though he offered with a motion of his hands. Instead, she followed him silently down the stairs, and out of the Leaky Cauldron. Tom led her through the already crowded streets of London, the few blocks down to King's Cross station, where the mysterious platform was located. Rebecca looked about as if she was expecting someone to see through her, to know what she was. No one gave her much more than a passing glance, if only because Ambrose sat proudly upon her shoulder.

Tom finally came to a stop before the pillar of Platforms 9 and 10. Rebecca nearly ran into him, but stopped just in time on her toes, then looked about, her gaze showing her confusion.

"Here you are, Rebecca," the old man told her, still smiling. "I wish you luck at Hogwarts; it's been a pleasure." He held out his hand.

Rebecca took it and shook. "Thank you, Tom, but um…" She looked around. "I'm not sure I _quite_ understand."

He stared at her for a moment, blinking dumbly. Then realization hit him. "I keep forgetting you're a muggle born," he said, shaking his head. "My apologies." He turned his attention to the pillar between the platforms.

He extended an arm and pointed one bony finger at it. "You see that, Becca?" he asked, craning his neck to see her response.

She nodded. "Yes, it's a pillar," she said, still unsure.

Tom stopped pointing, then turned his attention back to her. "That pillar has a spell placed on it," he said, "by Dumbledore himself, once he began Headmaster decades ago. It allows anyone who knows its secret to get through. Muggles can't see us when we go through it; but mind, we still need to be careful about when we go through it or towards it. People will think you're a complete loony running toward a barrier like that." He smiled. "So really, all you need to do is walk confidently toward it, and you'll be onto the platform. The Hogwarts Express is right on the other side."

Rebecca looked at the barrier that separated her from her new life. She turned back to Tom and nodded. "I think I can do it."

"That's a girl," Tom said with a smile, clapping her lightly on the shoulder before taking her hand again. "Good luck, Miss Felan. I heard Ollivander's expecting great things from you- I'll be doing the same, then, won't I?" he added with a wink.

With those parting words, the old bartender left, leaving Rebecca to ponder the barrier for another moment. She bit her bottom lip, looking around nervously. Ambrose squeaked in her ear, as if urging her forward, which her feet seemed to do on their own accord. She was soon approaching the pillar quickly, and she did one final sweep of her surroundings before taking the plunge and pushing through the barrier.

The noise surrounded her as soon as she realized she was on the other side. Looking up, Rebecca gasped at the train she saw before her. It was scarlet, with black edgings around it, but its color was magnificent. The platform was crowded, as she had suspected, with hooting owls and purring cats slinking their way through people's legs, though some were in cages with their owners. Rebecca decided it was best to put Ambrose in his traveling case, and the rat complied rather quickly. He now hung in his case off her shoulder, not moving about much.

She saw a number of other students placing their luggage in compartments of their choice on the train. She followed suite, finding one near the back that was empty, and setting her things down. Rebecca sat quietly, waiting for the train to begin its journey. She began to think as she stared off into space…

"Excuse me?" said a young boy's voice.

Rebecca kept herself from being startled as she glanced up to see who the voice belonged to. It was a boy who looked to be her age, with dark-coloured, messy hair, green eyes hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses, and skinny as a rail. His hands clutched a trolley, on which a cage (with a huge snowy owl sitting patiently) and the boy's trunk were placed carefully.

"Could you help me lift this up?" the boy continued, motioning to his trunk. "There don't seem to be any other compartments."

"Sure," said Rebecca, offering the boy the only small grin she could muster up. She stood and went to the opening of the compartment, holding out her hands. The boy handed her the cage with the owl inside it, and Rebecca took it gingerly, placing the beautiful bird on the floor. She turned back to see the boy trying to lift the trunk by himself.

"Don't- you'll hurt yourself!" she said harshly, jumping from the compartment to the ground smoothly.

She picked up one end, and the boy followed her lead by picking up the other end. They both tried to lift the trunk, but even their combined strengths were not enough. Rebecca grunted, feeling her arm straining against the heaviness of the trunk before she finally gave up, letting go of the handle.

"Want a hand?" a red-haired boy, older than both she and the dark-haired boy, asked kindly, approaching them.

"Yes, please," said the dark-haired boy.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" the redhead cried.

Another red-haired boy came obediently to his brother's call. Rebecca did a double-take. They were twins! She took a step back, going back up into the compartment to get out of the three boys' way. With the twins' help, the dark-haired boy managed to get his trunk into the compartment with his owl, Rebecca, and her own things.

"Thanks," said the dark-haired boy, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

Rebecca's own sharp vision caught the tiny scar on his forehead, but said nothing, sitting quietly in her seat near the corner of the compartment.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at the other boy's lightening scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you---?"

"He _is_," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to the boy Rebecca was now able to identify as Harry Potter.

"What?" asked Harry.

"_Harry Potter_," chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."

The twins gawked at him, and Rebecca saw Harry turn red. She felt sorry for the boy, but continued to say nothing. A voice came floating through in the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mum."

With a last look at Harry, the twins jumped off the train.

Rebecca watched as Harry sat next to the open window, where he peered out of it, as if watching something. She watched him for a moment before speaking up.

"I'm Rebecca Felan," she said politely, standing and going to shake his hand.

It was Harry's turn to be startled.

"Oh!" he said, turning to face her. "Right, sorry." He stuck out his hand and shook hers. "I'm- well, you probably already know." His voice sounded defeated.

"I just read about you last night," she admitted, sitting opposite to him in the compartment. "I'm amazed I even remembered your name- I'm usually horrible with them."

"You _read_ about me?" Harry asked incredulously.

Rebecca nodded. "I don't know much about the wizarding world," she said. "I'm a muggle born."

Harry nodded in understanding. "I've been living with my uncle, aunt, and cousin for most of my life… They're muggles, too." He scoffed suddenly. "Your family was probably a bit nicer to you, at least."

"Not really," Rebecca said, surprised she was confessing so much to him after having just met him. They seemed to both be outcasts put in a difficult situation, so she supposed that was why. "They worshipped my older brother. They don't like that I'm a witch."

Harry smirked. "My uncle and aunt hate me," he said, folding and unfolding his hands in a nervous fashion. "They especially don't like knowing that I'm magical, like my parents."

"I'm sorry about them," Rebecca said abruptly. "I don't quite understand the whole situation, but I'm still sorry."

Harry nodded, seeming unable to find anything to respond with. The train began moving, and he peered out the window again.


	4. The Journey to Hogwarts

**Disclaimer: A lot of stuff in here was from the English (American) version of **_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_**. That means it is J.K.'s-- not mine. I hope we all remember that. **

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the long wait; I hope to have another chapter up now that Winter Break is upon me. Look for more updates on my X-Men story if you read that, too. Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: The Journey to Hogwarts**

A few minutes of silence passed over Harry and Rebecca, until the compartment door slid open to reveal a young redheaded boy who looked remarkably like the older twins that had helped Harry.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing to the seat near Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Harry then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Rebecca noticed that the redhead had a black mark on his nose. She wondered if she should mention it.

"Hey, Ron."

Rebecca looked to the open compartment door to see the twins standing there.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train- Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

"Right," mumbled the younger redhead- Ron.

"Harry," said the other twin, "Did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."

Both turned to leave, then noticed (as if for the first time) Rebecca sitting there.

"Don't think we know you," said one of the twins curiously.

"I'm Rebecca," she muttered.

"Pleasure," said both twins, then turned to leave, shutting the compartment door behind them.

"Bye," said Harry and Ron together.

"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out.

Harry nodded.

"Oh— well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got—you know…"

He pointed at Harry's forehead. Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightening scar. Ron stared. Rebecca blinked, wondering exactly why Harry would want to show anyone. Probably just to get them off his back, she thought. She was considering Ron's true intentions about coming into the compartment.

"So that's where You-Know-Who—?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well— I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat down and stared at Harry for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are all your family wizards?" asked Harry. Rebecca noted that he seemed generally interested in Ron.

"Er— yes, I think so," said Ron. "I think Mum's got a second cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know loads of magic already."

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," said Ron, trying to change the subject. "What are they like?"

"Horrible— well, not all of them. My aunt and uncle and cousin are, though. I wish I had three wizard brothers."

"Five," said Ron. He looked gloomy as he said this. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left— Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first."

"I know how you feel," Rebecca said reflexively. "I've got an older brother, Nicholas. He's a right prat, though. My parents love him because he does everything right, like sports and good marks, lots of friends, girlfriends… And not becoming magical," she added under her breath.

"Then you know what I'm talking about," said Ron, not hearing the last part. "You never get anything new, either, with five brothers," he continued, looking back to Harry. "I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff— I mean I got Scabbers instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He went back to staring out the windows. Rebecca didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford another pet.

"I can understand," she told him. "I always get Nichloas' old school things." She made a face. "And he never took care of any of his things, not even pets- they all ran away eventually.

"I have a rat, too," she told them, opening up the case to show the boys her sleeping white rat. "His name's Ambrose. I just got him yesterday."

"I've never had any money in my life until a month ago," Harry added, also trying to cheer Ron up. He began telling both he and Rebecca everything, all about wearing Dudley's old clothes and never getting proper birthday presents. This seemed to help Ron substantially.

"…and until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort— "

Ron gasped. Rebecca looked at him confusedly.

"What?" said Harry, surprised.

"_You said You-Know-Who's name!_" said Ron, sounding shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you of all people—"

"I'm not trying to be _brave_ or anything, saying the name," said Harry, "I just never knew you shouldn't. See what I mean? I've got loads to learn… I bet," he added, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be," said Rebecca before Ron could even open his mouth. "At least you've got wizarding blood in your family." She scoffed. "All I have are muggle parents and a brother who could care less."

"There's loads of people who come from Muggle families," added Ron, "and they learn quick."

Rebecca glanced out the window, noticing that there were an abnormal number of cows and sheep in seemingly endless fields of grass. They were well out of London now.

The three continued to talk until about half past twelve when a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again, muttering that he'd brought sandwiches. Rebecca had a little bit of spending money left over from her Diagon Alley shopping trip with Professor McGonagall, but she decided it would be best to save it. She politely shook her head and said, "No, thanks." Harry went out into the corridor.

Rebecca saw from around Harry that the cart carried all sorts of candy she had never seen before. She was able to read some names, like "Chocolate Frogs," "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans," and "Cauldron Cakes." The chocolate was not something she wanted—she hated chocolate—but everything else looked positively inviting. She saw Harry take a little bit of everything and paid the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.

Ron and Rebecca stared as Harry brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?" Ron asked, no inflection in his voice.

"Starving," said Harry, taking a large bit out of a pumpkin-shaped pastry.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and mumbled, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," said Harry, holding up the strange pastry. "Go on-"

"You don't want this, it's all dry," said Ron. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

"Go on, have a pasty," said Harry, holding the thing out to him. "You too, Rebecca," he added, giving her one as well.

"What is it?" she asked, taking the pastry and looking it over curiously.

"It's a pumpkin pasty," Ron explained through a full mouth. "Try it."

Rebecca took a small bite from the pasty, chewing it thoughtfully. She smiled, then began eating the rest of it, enjoying every bit. She liked the new, albeit strange, food.

The three began eating their way through all Harry's pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

"What are these?" Harry asked Ron, holding up a pack of the things labeled "Chocolate Frogs". "They're not really frogs, are they?"

"No," said Ron. "But see what the card is. I'm missing Agrippa."

"What?"

"Oh, of course, you wouldn't know—Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect—famous witches and wizards. I've got about five hundred, but I haven't gotten Agrippa or Ptolemy."

Harry unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. Rebecca peered over his shoulder, and saw a man's face looking back up at her. He wore half-moon spectacles, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore. She recognized the curious name as the Headmaster McGonagall had mentioned to her.

"So _this_ is Dumbledore!" said Harry.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Dumbledore!" said Ron. He looked to Rebecca. "You have, haven't you?" he asked her. She nodded, and he turned back to Harry. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa—thanks—"

Harry turned over his card, and Rebecca read from next to him:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicholas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Harry turned the card back over, and both to his and Rebecca's astonishment, the man had vanished.

"He's gone!" Harry cried.

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her… do you want it? You can start collecting."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Harry "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay in photos."

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed.

Rebecca shook her head; Ron did the same. "_Weird_!"

Harry stared at his Dumbledore card, but Ron seemed more interested in eating the frogs than looking at the old man. Harry continued to open the pile of Chocolate Frogs, and Rebecca helped Ron eat the rest them almost as quickly as Harry could open them.

"You want to be careful with those," Ron warned Harry, who was beginning to open a bag labled Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "When they say every flavor, they _mean_ every flavor—you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavored one once."

Rebecca made a face as Ron picked up a green bean, looked at it, and bit into a corner.

"Bleaaargh—see? Sprouts."

The three had a good time eating the Every Flavor Beans. Rebecca got chocolate, salt, and strawberry before getting one that put her off for good: ear wax. She grimaced, and the boys laughed, until Harry nibbled on one that tasted of pepper. Then it was her turn to snicker.

When Rebecca looked out the window next, she saw that the fields that had been flying past the train had now turned to woods and dark, green hills.

There was a knock on the compartment door and a round-faced boy came in. He looked tearful, and Rebecca immediately felt sorry for him.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed. "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry.

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him…"

He left.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing in Ron's lap.

"I think he's cute," Rebecca said. She didn't like how Ron continued to put his own pet down. Both boys looked at her. "In that weird sort of way…"

Ron shook his head. "He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," he said in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look…"

She watched as Ron rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway—"

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. Rebecca noted that she had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you going to do magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down across from Ron, next to Rebecca. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er— all right."

He cleared his throat.

"_Sunshine, daises, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow._"

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard— I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough— I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

She said all this very fast.

Harry looked at Ron, then at Rebecca. Both had stunned looks on their faces, and Rebecca was relieved by both boys' similar expressions to hers. Apparently, they hadn't learned all their textbooks by heart, either.

"Rebecca Felan," she said, nodding to the girl.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course— I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

"Am I?" said Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, did you know, I'd have found everything I could if it was me," said Hermione. "Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You three had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, taking the toadless boy with her. Rebecca shook her head, trying to rid her ears from the sound of the girl's bossy voice.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into her trunk. "Stupid spell— George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. His face suddenly drooped with gloom. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"That's the house Vol- I mean, You-Know-Who was in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. He flopped back into his seat, looking depressed.

"So?" asked Rebecca. "That doesn't mean all Slytherins are bad, does it?" She looked to Ron; he stared back at her as if she were crazy.

"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers' whiskers are a bit lighter," said Harry, trying to change the subject quickly. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?"

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_, but I don't suppose either of you get that with the Muggles— someone tried to rob a high security vault."

Harry and Rebecca stared at him. She had only been there the day before. Since when had this happened?

"Really? What happened to them?" asked Harry.

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Rebecca listened carefully. All this talk of Dark wizards and this You-Know-Who person was driving her crazy. Harry knew this wizard's name, but everyone was too afraid to even hear it mentioned. She would have to ask about all of this later.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked them both eagerly.

"Er— I don't know any," Harry confessed.

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders, not knowing at all what Ron was talking about.

"What!" Ron looked dumbfounded. "Oh, you both wait, it's the best game in the world—" And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was taking Harry and Rebecca through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered. Two of them were much larger than the third, who was a ghastly pale boy. Despite the two larger boys' size, they all looked about Rebecca's age.

"Is it true?" asked the pale boy. "They're all saying down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry.

The two larger boys were intimidating, standing on either side of the pale boy like bodyguards.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carefully, noticing that Harry was looking at them. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron gave a slight cough, which was hiding a snigger as far as Rebecca was concerned. She didn't move as Draco Malfoy looked at Ron.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, but Harry didn't take it.

"I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks," he said coolly.

Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but a pink tinge appeared on his pale cheeks.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Potter," he said slowly. "Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you."

Both Harry and Ron stood up. Rebecca grabbed for both of their wrists, but the boys fought with her.

"Say that again," Ron said, his face as red as his hair.

"Stop," Rebecca hissed at him.

"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneered.

"Get out," Rebecca told him, standing between the three boys and Harry and Ron.

"We don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some."

Goyle reached toward the Chocolate Frogs next to Ron— Ron leapt forward, but before he'd so much as touched Goyle, Goyle let out a horrible yell.

Scabbers the rat was hanging off his finger, sharp little teeth sunk deep into Goyle's knuckle. Rebecca looked down at the carrying case around her neck; it was open. When she looked up, Crabbe and Malfoy were backing away as Goyle swung Scabbers round and round, howling. Suddenly, Malfoy let out a yelp as well, grabbing his backside, and nearly flew into Crabbe's arms. Ambrose was standing on his hind legs on the seat, and was swaying back and forth. Rebecca stepped forward and snatched the rat up, putting him back in his case quickly. Scabbers finally flew off and hit the window, and all three of the boys disappeared at once. A second later, Hermione Granger came in.

"What _has_ been going on?" she said, looking at the sweets all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Harry. He looked closer at Scabbers. "No— I don't believe it— he's gone back to sleep."

And so he had.

"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asked Harry.

Harry explained to them about his meeting with Malfoy in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"

"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

"Scabbers has been fighting, and Rebecca's rat, not us," said Ron, scowling at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"All right, but I don't suppose you'll want to change in here with them, do you?" Hermione asked Rebecca. Rebecca shook her head. "Follow me, then, you can change in the compartment across the way." She went to the door, Rebecca following close behind after she had retrieved her robes. Before they left, Hermione looked to Ron. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Rebecca followed Hermione across the hall and down a few doors before she opened an empty compartment.

"There were some people in here before, but they all left," Hermione explained quickly. "I'll watch the door while you change inside."

"Thank you," Rebecca said with a meek smile before stepping inside the compartment and closing the door behind her.

A few moments passed, then a voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts within five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Rebecca paused only for a moment, a wave of fear sweeping over her. She pulled on her new skirt, shaking her head at how silly she was being. Soon she was dressed and knocked on the door, signaling Hermione to open it.

"Come on!" Hermione said excitedly. "Everyone's going to the front, Rebecca, let's go!" She took the red head's hand in hers and pulled her forward. They were soon stopped by the many other students trying to get off the train at once. The train soon slowed down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Rebecca took in a breath, and noticed the frigid air around her. She loved it immediately. A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and a booming voice thundered over all:

"C'mon follow me— any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

"That is possibly the largest man I've ever seen," Rebecca heard Hermione say under her breath. She nodded in agreement, unable to take her eyes from the man.

He stood at least seven feet tall, and was by her estimation five feet wide at the shoulders. He had long, black hair that rested at his shoulders in a tangled mess, and a beard that blended in with the hair already around his shoulders. Rebecca wasn't frightened of him, just intrigued. She and Hermione soon caught up with Harry and Ron, who were near the large man.

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Rebecca thought there had to be trees around them. Nobody spoke much. Neville, the boy who kept losing his toad, sniffed once or twice.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the large man, whom Harry said was named Hagrid, called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!" Even Rebecca couldn't help herself.

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Rebecca made for a boat in the front, but saw that Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were already aboard another. She bit her lower lip as three other students unknown to her entered her boat and sat around her.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then—FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. Rebecca felt overwhelmed by the sight, but caught the gasp in her throat before she allowed it to escape.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. Rebecca managed to catch up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then the clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto a smooth, damp grass right in the shadows of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.


	5. The Sorting Hat

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing-- talk to Mrs. Rowling. And yes, this is mostly from the book, etc. For full disclaimer, see other chapters-- I'm too tired to write them all here. :)**

**Chapter Five: The Sorting Hat**

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. Rebecca grinned and waved politely at her, and the witch smiled through her stern expression and nodded at her.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide; the entrance hall was huge. Rebecca imagined you could have fit most of the Hogwarts Express inside of it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Rebecca cocked her head to the side, trying to hear what sounded like hundreds of voices murmuring somewhere very near. She figured the rest of the students were already here, but instead of leading them toward the other, the professor showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would have usually done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose. Rebecca primped her fiery hair as she watched Harry nervously try to flatten his. She attempted to help him, but it was no use, for his hair just sprung right back up.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.

Rebecca smirked at Ron, then shook her head. With the other boy's brothers always joking, she was sure there was never a dull moment in his life. She wondered what house she would be put into. She turned to ask Hermione, but she was blathering on and on about all the spells she'd learned over the summer to anyone who would listen, and even to those who wouldn't. She sighed, trying to hide her nervousness, but failed miserably in the attempt. She bit her lower lip again instead. She thought about her family, curious as to what they had been doing since she had left. She quickly decided that they weren't important, since all the thought of them would do was make her angry, and she knew bad things happened when she was angry.

She fixated her eyes on the door, beginning to hear whispers behind her that sounded like Draco Malfoy, the pale boy from the train. She could practically feel the stares on the back of her head. She took another deep breath in, but it was pushed out almost instantly as a yelp of surprise as several students around her began to scream.

She turned toward the noise, and gasped, as did many others around her. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I saw, we ought to give him a second chance—"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost— I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

"We're—first years," said Rebecca cautiously, though she felt she shouldn't be afraid of this ghost.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people, including Rebecca, nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Rebecca got into the line with Ron's own red hair in front of hers, and Hermione—still whispering—behind her. They walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Rebecca was astounded by the sight as soon as the doors were open. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, and with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Rebecca couldn't help but stare at one ghost in particular, one that looked as though blood was still trickling down the sides of him. The ghost peered back at her, almost as though he was pondering her, but she forced herself to look away from him; she'd been taught it wasn't polite to stare, ghost or no ghost. She looked up when she heard Hermione whisper: "It's been bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it _Hogwarts, A History_."

And sure enough, the ceiling was a velvety black dotted with stars. It was very hard for Rebecca to believe that the ceiling was there at all.

She looked back in the hall when movement in front of her caught her eye. Professor McGonagall was placing a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty.

For a few seconds, there was completely silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth—and the hat began to sing:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if I can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry _

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!_"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Rebecca heard Ron whisper to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Rebecca was still very confused about what house she was going to be in. Nothing of what the hat said seemed to quite describe her accurately. Maybe it would be confused, and she wouldn't be sorted at all. She bit her bottom lip a little too hard, and a tiny dot of blood leaked out. She grunted quietly, then put a hand to her lip.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Rebecca saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The second table from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Rebecca looked at the remaining table, right in the middle of everything. They cheered just as loud as the other tables for their newcomers, but they looked as if they all knew each other. She could tell they were the snobs of the wizarding world already.

"Felan, Rebecca!" called Professor McGonagall.

Rebecca stopped. How had they completely skipped over three letters of the alphabet? She took a breath in and bit her lower lip a little more gingerly this time. She stepped up to the stool, McGonagall looking kindly at her over the parchment. Rebecca felt all the eyes in the entire room on her, including the ones at the staff table. The man directly in the middle with the long, white hair and beard looked indifferently, yet interestedly, over his half-moon spectacles at her as she approached the bench. She recognized him from the card; it was Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.

Finally, Rebecca picked up the hat, placed it on her head, and sat down on the stool.

"You don't seem familiar at all," said a tiny voice in her ear. "You're a muggle born, aren't you? Hmm, no matter…"

All was quiet for but a moment. Rebecca was stunned that the hat was speaking to her so frankly.

"You know nothing, but you have an astounding will, and yearning, to learn. Ravenclaw would be good for that. Ah, but a kindness is within you—a justness—qualities of Hufflepuff. And there is a deeply set braveness about you when the time arises—a good solid Gryffindor quality. But I see what prevails the most in you is the wanting to prove yourself, to be noticed, to be everything and more. Well, if you're as cunning as you are smart, you'll do well in SLYTHERIN!"

There was no cheers from the Slytherin table as Rebecca stood timidly, placing the hat back on the stool. She stared wide-eyed at Professor McGonagall, who looked blankly at her for many long, tense and quiet moments.

"Go take a seat, dear," the older witch finally said.

Rebecca nodded, keeping her head cast downward as she walked to the center table. She sat beside Millicent, who had been the first and only Slytherin up until the hat had called out the house name. The large girl and all the other Slytherins stared at her as if she were a disease. Rebecca stared hard at the golden plate before her, wondering how she had ended up here. She could tell she did not belong at all.

She couldn't focus on much of the Sorting until a familiar name arose.

"Malfoy, Draco!"  
She watched as the pale, blonde boy sauntered up to the stool. The hat wasn't on his head fully when the thing shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table let out a cheer as Malfoy joined his friends Crabbe and Goyle at the table. He then turned his sights on Rebecca.

"Well, well," he said, placing his hands on his hips, a smirk plastered on his face, "looks like we've got a Mudblood in our midst."

The entire table seemed to turn at once to glare at Rebecca. She placed her hands around the carrying case that was hidden beneath her school robes, waiting to unleash Ambrose if she had to. She didn't know what a Mudblood was, but she could tell from Malfoy's tone that it had a negative meaning to it.

"Tell me, how did you fool the Hat into putting you into this house?" Malfoy continued, Crabbe and Goyle chuckling behind him. "Don't you want to be with your friends Potter and Weasley?"

She glanced up at him; he was still smirking. She hated this boy even more than she had on the train. She felt the anger welling up inside of her, and her hands began to grip the case so hard, she had to let go for fear of smashing it and hurting her pet. Instead, she gripped the side of the table.

"Sit down," a hoarse voice whispered.

Rebecca looked over her shoulder to see the bloody ghost who had been watching her before come up behind Malfoy. The boy followed orders, taking a seat away from Rebecca. The ghost nodded at her, then floated down to the other side of the table, where he stopped near Malfoy.

"The Bloody Baron likes her, at least," she heard a boy across and down a few seats murmur. She looked up at him. He had slightly uneven teeth, short, black hair, and dark brown eyes and was watching her guardedly. He had almost the same gravelly voice that the ghost—the Bloody Baron—had, but with a softer touch. He was older, definitely, but how much she didn't know. She hoped that he would be kind, or at least civil to her, but this house was proving to be anything but those traits.

"Potter, Harry!"

She looked up, hearing a chuckle from Malfoy as she did so. Harry stepped forward, whispers breaking out all over the hall. He sat down on the stool and put the hat on, which came over his eyes. There was a long pause. Rebecca crossed her fingers under the table, hoping that he would not get placed in this horrible house.

"Gryffindor!" shouted the hat finally.

Harry took off the hat and walked shakily to the Gryffindor table. He was getting the loudest cheer yet, Rebecca noticed, and she was silently ecstatic for him.

She tried to pay attention to the rest of the sorting in an attempt to ignore the continuing glares she was getting from her own house. She also noticed one of the professors in particular watching her. He had black, greasy hair and a long nose, and black eyes. He was the first person Rebecca had seen with black eyes. He was watching her the way the Bloody Baron had been earlier, as if considering her. Rebecca pulled her gaze away as "Weasley, Ron" was called.

Again, she crossed her fingers. A second after Ron put on the hat, it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!" and Ron went to take his place next to Harry.

The last person on the list was "Zabini, Blaise" who was made a Slytherin. He came and sat down beside the last person called, Pansy Parkinson. Rebecca sighed as McGonagall rolled up her parchment and took the Sorting Hat away. She wanted the feast to be over with, but didn't at the same time, since it would mean going back to the dorms with these people who very obviously didn't like her at all.

Albus Dumbledore got to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered, except for the Slytherin table, who did what Rebecca knew to be a golf clap.

"Bloody tart," she heard Malfoy grumble to the others.

Looking down, Rebecca saw that the plates and bowls in front of her that had been empty were now full to the brim with delicious-smelling food. Her goblet was filled with an orange liquid. She took a sip; it tasted of pumpkin, and it was very good. She reached for the nearest plate of boiled potatoes, but had it snatched away from her by quicker hands. She went quickly for the roast chicken that was close by, putting some on her plate before placing it back on the table.

She went on in this manner for about ten minutes, until she was full. The rest of her house was eating and talking and sounding very happy to be there. Rebecca looked at her empty plate, unwilling to speak with anyone. She heard a grunt behind her, and turned to stare straight into the Bloody Baron's transparent, silvery eyes. She was too stunned to say anything.

"The Sorting Hat placed you here for a reason, muggle born," he whispered gruffly. "Now act like it."

Rebecca felt her eyebrows meet and crease in the middle of her forehead.

"My name is Rebecca, and I would appreciate it if you called me that," she told him.

The Baron stared at her, and she met his gaze until his lips turned slightly in a tiny smile. He chuckled; it sounded like falling boulders to her.

"You've got it," said the Baron, "now show them." He pointed down the table at the other Slytherins.

Rebecca looked down the table at the others. She didn't know what to say to them. She felt that she couldn't say anything to them, not yet at least. She was too naïve; she knew nothing of the wizarding world—at least, nothing compared to what they knew. Then it hit her: she needed to find the library…

Professor Dumbledore got to his feet just as the desserts were disappearing. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table—and, Rebecca guessed, the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Rebecca heard some people laugh, but could tell from Dumbledore's expression that he was being completely serious.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Rebecca noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long gold ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old or bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brain all rot._"

Everybody finished the song at different times. Rebecca had been singing under her breath a favorite Beatles song of hers, for the rest of Slytherin house was watching the others surely as they sung. At least, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of the ones that clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherins got up, the first years not grouping and following behind a prefect as the other houses were doing. Rebecca got up and followed them quickly, hanging on to the back of the crowd. They exited the Great Hall and turned toward a staircase the led downward. Soon, they were in a dungeon-like area, and still going farther. They finally reached bend in the wall where they turned. Rebecca was facing a portrait of a stony-faced man holding a snake. The man blinked at them, and the snake's tongue flickered out, tasting them. Rebecca shivered, almost forgetting that pictures in the magical world moved.

"Parselmouth," said the older boy from before.

The man in the portrait grunted and swung forward. Everyone walked inside. Rebecca had felt how damp it had become as soon as they had started down on the staircase, but inside the common room it was even worse. It was nicely decorated enough with black leather couches and green drapes and pillows, but it was very cold and dark. Rebecca didn't like all the sharp edges or the claustrophobic feel to it.

She noticed everyone was leaving, remembering her quest for the library. She looked for the older boy who had been watching her at the table and finally spotted him heading for one set of staircases that led around either side of the fireplace—going downward, of course.

"Excuse me," she called, walking toward him.

He turned to face her, along with most others still left in the common room. They all stared at her. She began to bite her lower lip, then stopped herself, clenching her fists at her side and steeling her nerves.

"Could you tell me where the library is?" she asked the boy, who had come closer to her, a blank stare on his face.

His lip quivered in a smirk and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You're not allowed there past hours," he said. His voice was as gravelly as it had been in the hall. "It's bedtime."

A few others chuckled. Rebecca closed her eyes in frustration.

"Please," she said, opening her eyes to look at him. "I need to get there."

"Why?" he asked, suddenly more openly curious than he probably should have been.

Rebecca looked around the common room, seeing that people were starting to lose interest, but still some other stayed, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle included. She sighed, about to give up, but the Bloody Baron came through the wall and floated across the common room.

"Because I need to learn," she told the boy. She shook her head. "How rude of me—I'm Rebecca Felan."

She held out her hand to the older boy, staring him in the eye. The common room, which had mutterings of conversations going on, had now grown silent.

"Marcus Flint," the boy said, looking at her hand with distaste. "Find the library yourself."

He turned and went down the stairs, the other boys following him, laughing at Rebecca. She let her hand fall to her side and watched as the common room emptied out. The anger was growing within her again, and she tried her hardest to contain it, but a vase sitting atop the fireplace mantel burst into a thousand tiny pieces and scattered across the common room's cold floor. The fire then went out in a violent burst, and then all was still.

The Baron observed all of this with interest. He had not seen wandless magic that was so controlled and yet still powerful in a very long time. He said nothing as Rebecca flopped down on a leather sofa, taking out a white rat and petting him. Then he slowly turned and phased through a stone wall and out into the corridor.


	6. Classes

**Author's Note: **Yes, I know the Slytherin common room has an entrance that is a bare wall, not a portrait. This author had a brain damaged moment. ;;

And I truly do apologize for my non-updating self as of late. I'm trying to work on getting my Muse to work for me when I want her to, but she's been proving a difficult one to crack. As a result of my vigilance today, I've managed a fairly lengthy chapter for y'all. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.

**Chapter Six: Classes**

Rebecca awoke with a start, feeling a tickling sensation upon her nose. It took a moment to get over her shock as well as her eyes to focus. She breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that it was only Ambrose tickling her with his whiskers.

"Silly rat," she told him, smiling weakly as she picked him up. Rebecca placed him back in his carrier before rubbing a hand over her eyes.

She was still in the common room, having fallen asleep on the sofa the night before. She imagined it was still early, for no one had woken her up with cruel laughs, nor could she see or hear anyone. She knew Ambrose would be hungry, and she needed to change her clothes and figure out what to do next, for she had absolutely no clue what was to happen to her today. And she _still_ needed to get to the library.

Looking about, she spotted the staircase she had seen the other girls going to the night before, and decided to try there. She walked over quietly, looking at the rest of the dark common room lit by green-shaded lamps that hung low from the ceiling. Near the edges of the room, she saw desks, made for both one and team studying. Other than that, the room was poorly furnished, though what was there could be described as lavish. Rebecca still didn't like it much.

She placed her foot on the first step leading downward before taking a breath in to descend the rest of the way. The stairwell was lined on either side with the same cold stone that the castle was made from, with no pictures or moving portraits to decorate them. It wound in a tight circle for a few turns until she came upon a door labeled "First Years".

Biting her lower lip, she put her fingers on the handle a turned it slowly and as quietly as she could manage. She pushed the door, and it squeaked a little when it was about half-way open. Rebecca stopped and looked about the room. There were five four-poster beds all with dark green drapes drawn about them. In the middle of the room was an old fashioned stove stocked with wood to keep the place warm; a horrible chore if she were any judge. One of the beds did not have the drapes drawn and had an unpacked suitcase waiting beside it. She was surprised the other girls hadn't touched her things.

She opened the door a little more before stepping inside, closing it just as quietly behind her. Walking closer to the empty bed, she could see another open doorway leading off the dormitory, probably to a bathroom. Rebecca finally reached her suitcase and got out the things she needed: the rat food and a small bowl she had brought from home to put it in, a clean shirt and skirt, and any bathroom items she could find. She looked around the room for a clock, but could see none and sighed, wishing she knew how long until the other girls were up.

Placing the carrying case on what she decided was her bed, she got out a handful of the rat food and placed it in the small, blue bowl. She put the bowl in the center of the bed before opening the carrying case. Ambrose scurried out and went directly for the food.

"Eat up, you," she whispered to him, scratching his back with a finger. "And be quiet about it—I don't think you want to wake them up."

She closed the drapes slightly to hide her white rat from view before taking the remaining items she'd gotten from her suitcase and taking them to the open doorway. She found that there was a bathroom, though it looked very old. She turned the nearest sink's tap and heaved a sigh of relief when water came rushing out of it. She quickly changed and brushed her teeth and hair before going back out into the dorm.

Ambrose had finished eating and was sniffing around the bed in open curiosity before Rebecca scooped him back up. She patted his head gently before putting him on her shoulder. He seemed content there and went from one shoulder to the other for a few moments before settling for the left one. Rebecca giggled softly, putting his bowl back in the suitcase. She decided she was going to unpack later, when the girls were up and she wouldn't disturb them.

She made her way from the dormitory and back up the winding staircase and into the common room. There she saw a peculiar sight, and tried to get closer to see if her eyes were deceiving her. There before the fire was a small, human-like creature with large ears, even larger eyes, wearing a tea cozy as a covering for its body. She couldn't tell its gender, but found it so intriguing, she wanted to speak to it. She tip-toed up to it quietly as it was cleaning the mess the vase had made from the night before, not wanting to frighten it.

"Excuse me," she said gently.

"OH!" the creature cried out, jumping up and turning about nervously. It dropped the shattered remains of the vase it had been holding, making smaller tinkling noises as those pieces broke into even tinier ones.

Rebecca jerked back at the thing's reaction to her, and heard Ambrose squeak in her ear before hiding under her robes.

"I'm sorry," said Rebecca after a moment of calming herself down. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's all right, Miss," said the creature in a high-pitched voice. "Alex was just cleaning."

"Alex?" Rebecca said. "Is that your name?"

"Yes, Miss. And Alex has been bad, for house elves are not to be seen!" His ears drooped slightly as he finished, then looked at the mess before him. "And Alex has made things even worse here…"

"A house elf?" Rebecca whispered, pondering what on earth it was talking about.

"Yes, Miss, that's what Alex is," the house elf replied, looking curiously up at her.

"Rebecca, please."

The creature shook his head. "Oh no, Miss. Alex couldn't call you by your first name. It wouldn't reflect well on Alex, or the others."

Rebecca was about to ask what he meant, but shook her head, deciding better. "Could you tell me what time it is? Or if there's even a clock in here…"

"Oh! Yes, Miss," said Alex, nodding his head vigorously. "There is a grand clock just around the corner."

"Thank you," Rebecca said, leaving the creature to go check the clock.

She walked around the corner, seeing the large clock immediately, as she almost ran into it. It _was_ a grand clock: a grandfather made of dark cherry wood with silver-wrought serpents for the hands, the numbers being pure silver as well. It read exactly six-thirty.

Rebecca gave the clock a look over once more before returning back to the house elf. "Um… I'm sure this is going to sound stupid," she said, laughing nervously. "But… where am I supposed to go?"

The creature looked up at her with a confused expression, as if it weren't quite sure what to make of her. "Well, Miss, Alex would suggest that you go to the Great Hall. Breakfast will be served soon, Alex thinks."

"What about the library?" she asked. "Could you tell me where it is?"

"Of course, Miss," replied Alex, quickly gathering up the rest of the broken vase. "Let Alex just light the fire again…" He snapped his fingers, and the logs burst into flame before crackling complacently.

Rebecca wasn't sure if this would be acceptable behavior of a student, talking to a house elf, but at this point, she didn't care. If she didn't have friends in this house that would show her around, she would have to find other means.

"The library is on the fourth floor, Miss," Alex piped in after a moment of silence. "Miss entered Hogwarts through the Entrance Hall last night, and saw the grad staircase?"

"Yes, I did," Rebecca said with a nod.

"Miss would do well to follow that staircase up to the fourth floor," Alex continued. "The library is directly before the staircase, as soon as you walk onto the fourth floor."

"Thank you, Alex," Rebecca said with a smile. She stored this information for later, hoping to be able to check out as many books as possible whenever she got the chance.

"Will Miss be needing anything else?" Alex asked expectantly.

"No, Alex, thank you very much."

Alex bowed, then stood up straight, and snapped his fingers. He disappeared. Rebecca's eyes widened, and she looked about the area for the house elf. He was nowhere to be found.

"How strange," she mumbled to herself, turning to leave the common room.

Her ears caught footsteps trumping up the staircase, and boy's voices preceding them. Not really wanting to face her housemates alone, in the common room, this early in the morning, Rebecca quickly ran to the entrance and went out into the corridors. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was outside.

The next few days were a blur for Rebecca. Her first class had been, thankfully, Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall, who looked kindly at her for a moment when she entered the room a few minutes before the rest of the class. She sat in the front, intent upon learning.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said once the class had begun. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Rebecca smirked at McGonagall's strictness. For some reason, she didn't mind that this class would be hard. She would enjoy the challenge. A wave of respect swept through her for McGonagall at the command she had over the class. Amazement soon followed when the woman changed her desk into a pig and back again. Rebecca couldn't wait for the day she could do the same, but quickly realized that that day would not come for a very long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, Rebecca had managed to turn the match silver, and was the only one to have gotten even that far. She felt quite pleased with herself, and smiled. McGonagall gave her an encouraging look and pointed out her shiny, silver match to the rest of the class. Draco Malfoy glared at her, and Rebecca shrunk down in her seat.

History of Magic was next, and Rebecca fell asleep in that one. The professor, Binns, was a ghost, the only ghost teacher at Hogwarts, he informed them. He had a very deep voice that droned on and on about names and dates of things, and mixing up Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball, whoever they were. Rebecca mentally cursed herself, waking up just before the bell was ringing. She needed to pay attention in this class, no matter how boring it was.

Three times that week, Rebecca had to go out to the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout of Herbology taught them all about the plants of the wizarding world. It was mildly more interesting than History of Magic, but Rebecca found that she would have a hard time keeping her interest up in this class, as well. Astronomy, a midnight class on Wednesdays, proved to make up for Herbology. She found the stars and planets a lot more fun that plants.

Charms was taught by a tiny professor called Flitwick, who had to stand on a stack of books in order to be seen by the class. Rebecca found that she had trouble with her charms. This was disappointing, but she resolved to work on it before the next class.

She had been looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell seemed an interesting sort, always wearing his turban and shaking nearly all the time—his voice quavered with his incessant shaking. After a while, it grew quite annoying. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off the vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. Rebecca didn't know whether or not to believe his story; his voice shook more when he told it.

Rebecca felt terribly behind in many of her classes, as the other Slytherin students were having an easy time of it. The only one she had beaten them at so far was Transfiguration. She spent her afternoons that week in the library, checking out books and taking them back to the common room, where she would study in the corner. She also began preparing for her Double Potions class with the Gryffindors on Friday whenever she could. The more she read, the more she enjoyed the sound of Potions. And, she would be with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who at least didn't mind her parentage. Everyone in Slytherin house had made it a point to not speak to her unless it was to call her a name or make fun of her. She tried to ignore them as best she could, but she found the task tedious.

Friday finally arrived, and Rebecca was the first in the dungeons classroom. She looked around nervously, taking note of the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. She swallowed heavily, then chose a seat near the middle of the classroom.

The other Slytherins piled in the room, taking seats in the back of the class so the Gryffindors would be forced to sit in the front. They all thought it would be a brilliant idea, they whispered, as Snape was bound to take loads of points from them for any little thing they did wrong. Then, the Gryffindors entered the room. Rebecca smiled in relief at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who came to sit closer to her. She felt the glares of the Slytherins upon her, and bit her bottom lip.

"Blimey, a Slytherin!" Ron breathed, shaking his head. "I never imagined—"

Hermione elbowed him, and Ron shut up, taking in a quick, sharp breath of air.

"You okay?" Harry asked, concerned.

Rebecca shrugged. "Everyone makes fun of me, but pretty much leaves me alone," she told them. "I study a lot, and the girls in my dorm don't touch my things… I think they might think I have a disease. They keep calling me—"

Professor Snape chose that moment to enter the classroom, and proceeded to the front of the room. Everyone grew silent and watched him carefully. He started the class by taking roll, pausing slightly after calling Rebecca's name to look her over again before continuing. When he came to Harry's name, he stopped altogether and looked at the boy sitting behind Rebecca.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new—_celebrity_."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black, cold and empty, and made Rebecca think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but Rebecca had no problem catching every word—like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquid that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Rebecca couldn't help but feel moved by Professor Snape's words. She looked around and saw Harry and Ron exchange looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_I know that_, Rebecca thought, her eyes widening slightly as she turned around to look at Harry, who glanced at Ron, who looked about as clueless as you could get. Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lip curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar??"

_In the stomach of a goat_, Rebecca thought silently, a tiny smile curling on her lips.

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving her seat.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Rebecca eyed the cold look Snape was giving Harry directly over her head. He was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

_There isn't any_, Rebecca thought, looking anxiously at Harry, as if she could force the thought into his head.

Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed, Slytherins, Rebecca could tell by the laughter. Snape was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of the aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

He then began to split them into pairs, the Slytherins with Slytherins and the Gryffindors with Gryffindors. Soon, everyone had a partner except for Rebecca. She bit her lower lip, almost breaking the skin again.

"Miss… Felan, is it?" Snape asked her, an eyebrow raised.

She nodded warily.

"You'll have to work alone," he stated simply. "It appears that we have an odd number of students this year."

Rebecca visibly whitened, and she tried to see if Snape was smirking. He seemed perfectly content with this arrangement, however. Was he trying to sabotage her? Make the house hate her more? Or was he testing her ability? He called the potion a simple boil cure—something anyone could make. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weight dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. However, he peered at Rebecca's progress, his eyes calculating. It wasn't like he was searching for the faults of the potion, but just curious as to how Rebecca was doing. He didn't say a word as he passed her by, then chose to tell everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs.

Clouds of acrid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville, the boy who had lost his toad on the train, had somehow managed to melt his partner's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. Rebecca felt terrible for the boy, even if the explosion had almost landed her in the same position as he, as Neville and his partner were just feet away from her. She climbed down from atop her stool carefully and watched the events unfold.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Neville's partner. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You—Potter—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

Rebecca scowled at the unfairness of it all. Even if Snape was her head of house, as she had discovered quickly enough, it still wasn't right to treat anyone, especially Harry one of the few people that didn't hate her, like this.

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. She supposed Ron had done something quietly to dissuade him from doing so.

Once everything had settled, everyone returned to making their potions. Rebecca finished rather quickly, and looked around to see if anyone else was finished. Just as she was returning her attention to her cauldron, Snape appeared before her, looking into the cauldron over his long, hooked nose.

"Bottle this and bring it to my desk, Miss Felan," he said quietly, handing her a vial with a stopper. She took it carefully from him, not touching his hand, and Snape turned on his heel and headed up to his desk.

Rebecca ladled some the boil cure potion into the tiny vile, then put the stopper back on top of the vial. Taking in a deep breath, she brought the vial up to Professor Snape, who was sitting behind his desk already, his hands folded in front of him. She carefully extended it to him.

Snape snatched the vial from her hand, then looked at it for many silent moments. He unstoppered it and sniffed the potion, looking at it from that angle as well.

"Very good, Miss Felan," he said, stoppering the vial again. "You have just successfully created your very first potion."

Rebecca grinned, despite her better judgment. Snape smirked.

"However, it could have been done faster," he said.

Her face fell into a frown.

"Considering your, ah… level of knowledge before arrival, Miss Felan, it is extremely unusual that you would do so well on your first try," Snape continued. "And without the aid of a wizard-born partner, I might add."

He paused a moment, staring at her with his cold eyes. Rebecca couldn't look at them; she and the professor were too close to one another, and his gaze was too pressing. It was as though he was trying to look into her mind, and she didn't like it.

"You have earned the two points Potter lost for Gryffindor for Slytherin instead," he said, breaking the stare he held upon her and looking down at the vial. He placed it in a rack in front of him. "You may proceed back to your desk so that you may clean your area before leaving."

Rebecca did as she was told, feeling excited, but worried at the same time. She gave Harry and Ron an apologetic look, as she was certain half the front rows had heard what had transpired at Professor Snape's desk. She saw Malfoy staring at her, his eyes boring into her. It was the worst look she'd received since her arrival, and she shrunk from it.

She quickly cleaned up her area with a spell she'd read while attempting to study for Charms.

"Scourgify!" she whispered.

Her cauldron emptied immediately, cleaned. It was as if it had not been used. Rebecca was pleased with herself for being successful with a spell, as she'd not been having much luck with them in class as of late. Now, she just wanted to get out of the dungeons as fast as she could. She gathered her things and headed for the Great Hall.


	7. Flying Lessons or The Midnight Duel

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.

**Author's Note:** I would like to thank everyone that's been reading and commenting so far- you all keep me going. And also many thanks to those who have added either this story, my other one, or both to their "Favorites" list. I am truly honored and humbled all at once. grins and bows

Now, I have a note about the first chapter. I recently re-read it, and discovered that I'm going in a completely new direction now then I was when I first started writing this story. XD Needless to say, I have a change to make about the first chapter. Rebecca's eyes are not blue, they are green, as they have almost always been with this character- I think I had a brain fart when I wrote the first chapter or something. rolls eyes And as for her eyes changing color… nix that. That was a really bloody dumb idea I had, so dumb that I can't even share it, as it is highly embarrassing.

So, if you notice that Rebecca's eyes have suddenly changed color, that's why. Anyway, onto the next chapter!

**Chapter Seven: Flying Lessons/The Midnight Duel**

There was a notice that night when Rebecca returned to the common room, pinned up on the wall. She groaned when she saw it, though it was so loud, others in the room with her hushed her severely. She cringed, then turned to go to her usual corner.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins were going to have a class that would begin on Thursday. That wasn't a problem. She only had Potions with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so another class with people she liked was most welcome. Unfortunately, this particular class would be Flying lessons. Rebecca hated heights, didn't want to go near a broom that could fly, and knew nothing of the popular game everyone in this school seemed to talk incessantly about: Quidditch.

She reached her usual corner, the one the farthest away from the fire that had a table cramped into it. It was unusually cold here, but made her all the less noticeable when she stayed up till all hours of the night studying, meaning that it was less likely for people to bother or ridicule her.

Rebecca was just about to put her bag down, when she noticed that the table was already occupied by seven burly-looking boys. She gasped, and they all looked up at her. One looked familiar with his dark eyes and hair, and gruff expression. It was Marcus Flint, the older boy who had brushed her off on her first day of school.

"Seems like you've found the library," he grumbled, jabbing his head in the direction of her handful of books.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Rebecca said in a tiny voice, backing slowly out of the corner.

She knew him to be the Slytherin Quidditch team captain, this Marcus Flint boy. Perhaps he could help her. If it was any indicator about the last time she'd asked him a question, it was highly unlikely that he would. She chewed on her lower lip, then stopped herself, making sure she had good footing on the floor.

"Well, what is it, then?" Marcus asked, giving her a harsh look, though it wasn't quite yet a glare.

"I was thinking maybe you could help me," Rebecca said quietly. "…With Quidditch."

Marcus stared at her blankly.

"I have Flying lessons on Thursday, and I don't know anything about flying," she said, trying to make herself more clear.

Marcus scoffed. "What do I look like, a bloody teacher? Get out of here, you."

The six other boys with him, presumably part of his Quidditch team, laughed as Rebecca turned quickly and left the corner. She found another table far enough away from them and far enough away from everyone else where she hoped she wouldn't be disturbed. She started her Charms homework, thinking that if she got the hardest subject for her out of the way, the rest would go by quickly.

She had started to take a little more of an active interest in Herbology, but only because it tied in with Potions so well. It was still one of her lesser preferred classes, as the plants they discussed were typically boring and stable, whereas the third years and up Rebecca had heard talking about the class had found it more riveting, having to fight plants in order to complete lessons. That sounded more fun, at least, instead of taking notes on gillyweed and other rubbish like that.

Suddenly, Rebecca found her light blocked out by a shadow. She looked up and saw the face of Marcus Flint staring down at her. Her eyes widened slightly, and she sunk down into her chair, unsure of what he would do. If he attacked, she was virtually defenseless, considering that her spell work was still not the best, as she had a hard time remembering the spells fast enough in order for them to have any use to her.

She swallowed the lump that was developing in her throat, but before she could speak, he did.

"Your name's Rebecca, right?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

She nodded, unable to find her voice.

"And you're the one that's got Slytherin in an uproar, eh?" he continued.

"I… I guess."

"Well you're the Mudblood, aren't you?"

Rebecca straightened. "I'm not sure what you mean by that," she said, a little offended. Though she didn't know what the word meant exactly, she could tell it had horrible connotations to it.

"It means a muggleborn," he explained, sitting in the chair across from her, flipping it backward so he could sit with his arms across the back of it.

"Oh," she said. "Well then, yes, I guess that's me."

He watched her a minute, unspeaking.

"Did you come over here to make fun of me some more?" she finally asked, inflamed that he was disturbing her Charms homework—and just when she was almost finished, too.

He seemed stunned by this question and her tone. He smirked. "You wanted to know about flying, didn't you?" he said. "I came to answer your questions."

"So you'll help me when your friends aren't round?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. She was clearly annoyed, and she could feel it building up in her blood; she was afraid something might break again, so she tried her best to calm herself down.

A twinge of red came to Flint's ears, but he scoffed, shoving the chair into the table, sending a few of her papers rattling to the floor with the sudden movement.

"If you don't want my help, that's fine," he growled, turning to leave. "See if I try to be nice to you again."

Rebecca watched him stalk off, then sighed and got off the chair to pick up the papers that had fallen.

At three-thirty on Thursday afternoon, Rebecca made her way to the grounds, alone. As usual, she was the first to arrive, and sat down on the grass to wait for everyone else to show up. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under her. She looked at the forbidden forest, as she was sitting on the flat lawn just opposite of the forest; the trees swayed darkly at her.

There were already brooms set out, one for each student to use. Rebecca stared at them, trying her best to overcome her fear right now, before anyone else came for their lesson, but only managed to freak herself out more with just the thought of soaring up in the air. She stopped looking at the brooms, choosing to watched the trees from the forest sway in the wind instead.

After a few minutes, the other Slytherins walked down to where she was sitting, but all ignored her. She heard Malfoy whispering to the others, stealing glances at her, before the other would erupt in a flurry of giggles. She rolled her eyes at them, and stood, waiting off away from the rest of them for the Gryffindors to show up.

They finally did, and she smiled at Harry, who was the first one that she saw. He, Ron, and Hermione came over to her, followed closely by the boy Neville. Hermione introduced the two, and Rebecca smiled at him, sensing how uncomfortable Neville was, much like her.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk. Rebecca was fascinated by her eyes, and couldn't stop staring. Could she be, what her Transfiguration book called, an Animagus?

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" Madam Hooch barked, bringing Rebecca from her thoughts. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Rebecca looked down at her broom, feeling the twinge of nervousness explode throughout her entire body. She bit her lower lip, then looked back to the professor.

"Stick your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

But I'm left-handed, Rebecca thought, then shook her head to keep herself from thinking anymore.

"UP!" everyone shouted.

She saw Harry's broom jump into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Rebecca's lay limp upon the ground, having only twitched a bit before settling.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Rebecca heard Harry and Ron chuckle when Hooch told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—"

But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle—twelve feet—twenty feet. His scared white face looked down at the ground falling away, then he gasped, and slipped sideways off the broom and—

WHAM—a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," she muttered. "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

The other Slytherins joined in. Rebecca glared at Malfoy, edging further toward the other first year Gryffindors, who didn't seem to mind her doing so.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped one of the Gryffindor girls.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-face Slytherin girl Rebecca had to room with. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The thing Malfoy held in his hand glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking to watch. Rebecca bit her lower lip, knowing what would inevitably happen.

Malfoy smiled nastily.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broomstick.

"_No_!" shouted Hermione. "Madam Hooch told us not to move—you'll get us in trouble."

Harry ignored her. He mounted his broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. Beside Rebecca, Ron whooped in appreciation as Harry went higher, his robes whipping out behind him. She watched nervously along with Hermione. Ron, however, didn't see the problem, and was beaming at Harry.

"He could fall, you know," Rebecca said harshly to him.

"No he won't—he's a natural!" Ron said, only looking away from the action for a moment.

Harry and Malfoy were talking, but because of the wind, Rebecca couldn't hear what was said. Then, Harry shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. Around Rebecca, a few Gryffindors clapped, impressed.

After a few tense moments, Malfoy three the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground. Rebecca watched as he landed amongst the Slytherins, grinning up at Harry, who was attempting to catch the glass ball. He caught it just a foot above the ground, then pulled his broom straight and toppled gently onto the grass with the ball clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Rebecca was startled by the sudden scream of Professor McGonagall from behind them, and turned to look at the woman. Her lips were pursed into a thin, straight line as she ran toward them; Rebecca recognized it as her angry look. Harry got to his feet, trembling.

"_Never_—in all my time at Hogwarts—"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how _dare_ you—might have broken your neck—"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil—"

"But Malfoy—"

"That's_enough_, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now."

Rebecca watched sadly as Harry walked nimbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle.

"Is he going to be expelled?" Rebecca asked nervously.

"Unlikely," said Hermione. "But I don't think it will turn out well."

The two girls exchanged nervous looks, and the class waited for Madam Hooch to return.

Before their lessons were finished for the day, Hermione invited Rebecca to come sit with them over at the Gryffindor table.

"No one will mind, I think," she told the nervous Slytherin as they walked to the Great Hall together. "Dumbledore might even like the show of houses uniting."

"Or he might faint from the shock of seeing a Slytherin at the Gryffindor table," Ron added.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

The three of them took a seat at the Gryffindor table, where Rebecca was quickly introduced to the other first years. There was Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were best friends already, and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil (who had a sister in Ravenclaw). Percy Weasley, who was another brother of Ron's, came over once he discovered a Slytherin in his midst, but quickly changed his mind once Ron said she was a friend of his.

Rebecca loved the excitement of meeting new people, and enjoyed that none of them judged her on what type of blood she had. She felt comfortable at this table, more so than she felt she ever could over at the Slytherin table. But, where was Harry?

He finally came to the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surprised to see Rebecca there, but he had even more surprising news.

"You're_joking_," Ron said, after Harry had told them all what McGonagall had done to him after they had left the grounds.

"_Seeker_?" Ron continued. "But first years _never_—you must be the youngest house player in about—"

"—a century," said Harry, shoveling pie into his mouth. "Wood told me."

Oliver Wood, Harry had told them, was the Gryffindor Quidditch team captain who had introduced him to the game.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"I start training next week," said Harry. "Only don't tell anyone. Wood wants to keep it a secret."

He looked at Rebecca, and she nodded, smiling. The Slytherins would never hear a word of this.

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Well done," said George in a low voice. "Wood just told us. We're on the team too—Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Fred. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found our first week. See you."

Fred and George had hardly disappeared when someone far less welcome turned up: Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Rebecca shrunk in her seat, trying to go unnoticed. Hermione tried her best to shadow the girl by sitting forward.

"Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?" Malfoy said.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. Crabbe and Goyle were, of course, huge in size compared to the normal boys their age, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel, I suppose?"

"Of course he has," said Ron, wheeling around. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Malfoy looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

His eyes fell on Rebecca, and he smirked, then left.

Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"What_is_ a wizard's duel?" said Harry. "And what do you mean, you're my second?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron casually, getting started at last on his cold pie. He added quickly, after seeing the look on Harry's face, "But people only die in proper duels, you know, with real wizards. The most you and Malfoy'll be able to do is send sparks at each other. Neither of you knows enough magic to do any real damage. I bet he expected you to refuse, anyway."

"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"

"Throw it away and punch him in the nose," Ron suggested.

"Excuse me."

They both looked up, noticing Hermione was talking to them.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron.

Hermione ignored him and spoke to Harry.

"I couldn't help overhearing what you and Malfoy were saying—"

"Bet you could," Ron muttered.

"—and you _mustn't_ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you."

"And it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

The flick of her quill across paper was the only thing Rebecca heard late that night in her little corner in the common room. She was working on her Charms essay early, knowing that if she put it off, it would never get done.

Footsteps interrupted her thoughts, and she stayed completely still, trying her hardest to listen. She hoped that it wasn't anyone trying to bother her—she had had enough of that.

There was a long pause, then… snickers.

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. It was nearly eleven at night, and most of the other Slytherins had cleared out of the common room around ten. Why would there be anyone here? And it _had_ sounded like they had just come into the common room from the hallway...

"Filch'll catch Potter for sure."

Malfoy, Rebecca thought, her brows furrowing. She clutched her quill tightly between her fingers, nearly breaking off the tip of it.

Crabbe and Goyle's chuckles resounded off the walls.

"To think I'd actually duel _him_," Malfoy scoffed. "Little twit. I doubt he could even cast _Protego_ to protect himself."

Rebecca could practically see the smirk on the pale boy's face. She wanted to smack it off of him.

"D'you think Filch'll give him a detention with him?" Malfoy continued, though his voice was growing fainter. He and his cronies were leaving, heading for their dormitory.

Rebecca stayed where she was until she could no longer hear his voice. She stood up, closing her Charms book and stuffing everything into her bag, then hiding it under the table. She didn't have time to put it back in her dormitory—she had to warn Harry! One of her only friends was in trouble, and she couldn't just leave him to Filch.

Making sure her cloak was fastened, she went out cautiously into the halls of the dungeons, trying to remember the earlier conversation from lunch that had passed between Ron, Harry, and Malfoy.

The trophy room! she suddenly recalled, setting her path for her destination on the third floor.

She stayed in the shadows as much as she could. The moon was nearly full this night, though, which made her going a little slow. She had to hold her breath a few times when she was certain that she heard someone go by, but it always ended up being a ghost. Not Peeves, thankfully, who Rebecca had learned to avoid. She had been walking alone down to the dungeons one evening, on her way from dinner, when Peeves had dropped a water balloon. He had been aiming for her head, but Rebecca had been walking too fast for him. He cursed when he had missed, and Rebecca's shoes and her left leg had gotten soaked. Peeves had been worse than the Slytherins, making fun of her, and she had had to hold back tears as she ran from him, his song following her down the corridor.

Now, though, she crept craftily through the halls, finally reaching the trophy room. No one was here yet.

Then she heard the door opened, and held her breath, pressing herself against the wall most covered in shadows. She was relieved when she saw Harry's head poke inside the open door, and he was quickly followed by Ron, Hermione, and Neville. A strange group to bring along, she thought.

She stepped out of the shadows, and she heard one of them gasp from her sudden appearance. She went quickly to them and hugged Harry.

"Thanks goodness you finally showed," she said in a very quiet whisper. "I heard Malfoy in the common room, he's sent Filch after you!"

"What?" Harry said, just as quiet, his face screwed up in a mixture of anger and frustration.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

Rebecca's eyes widened, and she caught Harry's look. Filch was just outside the room, speaking to Mrs. Norris, his horrible cat. Horror-struck, Harry waved madly at the others to follow him; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Harry mouthed to the others and, petrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run—he tripped, grabbed onto Ron's waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Harry yelled, and the five of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following—they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Rebecca close behind Harry, who was leading, without any idea where they were or where they were going—they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead. Neville was bent double, wheezing and spluttering.

"I—_told_—you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I—told—you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Ron, "as quickly as possible."

"Malfoy wasn't ever going to come," Rebecca said, trying to catch her breath. She was leaning against the wall, her head thrown against it as well. Her eyes were closed. "He was trying to get you in trouble."

"Thanks for trying to warn me, at least," Harry said gratefully to the girl.

"Would it be safe for you to try and go back to your common room alone?" Hermione asked Rebecca.

"I dunno," she answered honestly. "Probably, though. I'll have to get my bearings, first, but I think I can make it."

"Let's go," Harry said.

Rebecca started to go with them, knowing that it would be easiest to at first. They would be going the same way for a while, then she would break off from the Gryffindors and go her own way. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves. He caught sight of them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out," Harry said.

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way," snapped Ron, taking a swipe at Peeves—that was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

"I'll tell the Bloody Baron on you," Rebecca growled at Peeves as they ducked under him and ran for their lives.

They ran right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

"This is it!" Ron moaned, as they pushed helplessly at the door. "We're done for! This is the end!"  
They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "_Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying. "Quick, tell me."

"Say, 'please.'"

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now _where did they go_?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right—_please_."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

"He thinks this door is locked," Harry whispered. "I think we'll be okay—get _off_, Neville!" For Neville had been tugging on the sleeve of Harry's bathrobe for the last minute. "_What_?"

Harry turned around, along with the rest of them. Rebecca saw, quiet clearly, what. She bit her lower lip, looking into the corridor that they had all thought was a room. This was the forbidden corridor. She saw exactly why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Rebecca figured that the only reason they weren't dead is that they had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that. Its growled were growing thunderous in the small corridor.

Harry groped for the doorknob—between Filch and death… Well, that was easy.

They fell backward—Harry slammed the door hut, and they ran, mostly flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared—all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

Rebecca had followed them, having been too scared to think. Once they reached the Gryffindor common room, she paused, unsure of what to do. Could she go inside the Gryffindor common room? She had already broken about twenty rules tonight, she was sure, so what was another? (If it was in fact a rule at all.)

"Where on earth have you been?" the Fat Lady asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that—pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room, Rebecca following close behind, and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

Rebecca looked around the common room. It was so different from the Slytherin's. They actually had a portrait, not a blank wall, for the entrance; their furniture was soft and looked comfortable and inviting, whereas theirs was comfortable, but looked too foreboding; the red was prominent, but she thought she preferred the dark green and silver to these bright colors.

It was a while before any of them said anything. Neville, indeed, looked as if he'd never speak again.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

"It's a Cerberus, Ron," Rebecca clarified, looking at him.

"A what?" the boy shot back, a confused look on his face.

"A Cerberus," Rebecca repeated. "In Greek mythology, there was a Cerberus that guarded the entrance to the Underworld."

"Exactly, it was guarding something," Hermione said, having gotten her breath back as well as her bad temper. She was glaring at the boys.

"Excuse me?" said Ron, not utterly lost.

"Didn't you see what it was standing on?" Hermione continued.

"The floor?" Harry suggested. "I wasn't looking at its feet, I was too busy with its heads."

"No,_not_ the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something, just as Rebecca said that it's supposed to do."

She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you?"

Rebecca then stood up. "Er… I think I need to get back to my own common room," she said, not feeling comfortable here. "Sorry I didn't warn you in time, guys."

"Thanks again, though," Harry said, looking at her, as if just realizing that there was a Slytherin in their common room. "You tried, at least."

Rebecca nodded, feeling defeated. She turned to leave, but then looked back to him. "And don't worry, the Slytherins won't find out the password," she added, before leaving.

She made it back down to the Slytherin common room, having to skirt by Professor Snape once she had reached the dungeons. He had been coming from the common room, it looked like, probably checking on the students. What if he'd seen her up, had she not gone to warn Harry, doing her Charms essay still? She didn't know, nor did she care at the moment. Once she was sure he was out of hearing, she entered the common room, gathered her things, and went to bed.


	8. The Aftermath

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.

**Author's Note:** As you can see, I'm trying to get my updates out a lot faster than I had been doing in the past. I hope that this will peek interest in this story and keep my already faithful readers coming back for more. Enjoy!

**Chapter 8: The Aftermath**

Rebecca entered the Great Hall the next morning to see Draco Malfoy's shocked face upon seeing Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table. She smirked, standing to go sit there rather than at her table, where everyone tended to sit at least five feet from her at all times.

"Thought you were smart, didn't you, prat?" she muttered as she walked past him.

She felt his glare upon her back, and she smirked. She wondered how this one show of rebellion would affect her in the long-run, but then forgot about it when Harry waved to her. She smiled back, finally feeling accepted somewhere. The boys made room for her at the Gryffindor table, and she sat between them.

Harry filled both Ron and her in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and how it connected to what they had seen the night before, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection.

"It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Ron.

"Or both," said Harry.

"Or… they don't want someone else having it," suggested Rebecca.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was about two inches long, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

Neither Neville nor Hermione showed the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor. All Neville cared about was never going near the dog again.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry or Ron, but she was polite to Rebecca. "After all," she informed her, "you did try to warn them, just like I did. I told them so." All the boys really wanted now was to get back at Malfoy.

That day had been pretty uneventful, but Rebecca had caught Malfoy snooping around her bag during her last class of the day. She had glared at him, and he had gone off. Once she looked in her bag, she could see nothing there that was out of the ordinary, nor had anything visibly been taken.

She walked to the Great Hall, wondering what Malfoy would have done had she not gone back to her seat so quickly. He probably would have just taken something of hers. But she carried nothing of value on her. She furrowed her brow in curiosity. What could he possibly have been doing? Maybe he was just trying to mess with her head, she decided; make her so worked up over it that she would become paranoid.

Yes, that was it— he was trying to make her paranoid.

Her foot had not crossed the threshold of the Great Hall when her bag exploded with many different colored lights.

Rebecca shielded her face with her arms, screaming her lungs out as the fireworks came pouring out of her bag. Among the yellow, blue, green and red sparks flew her parchments, books, and anything else that she had stowed away in her bag. Her inkwell, the dark green that she had prized so much when she had bought it from the store, was now splattered all over the side of her robes, and part of her front and back, too.

Everyone in the Hall turned to look at her. Those at the Slytherin table laughed at the uproarious sight, not bothering to hide their emotions. All the other students just looked on, too stunned to move. The professors at the head table were all on their feet, some with their wands out, others with concerned expressions. Minerva McGonagall was the one who started for her, but Severus Snape put a hand on her shoulder and swept toward the girl.

The fireworks finally stopped, and Rebecca felt tears coming to her eyes as she finally heard the laughter. She sunk to the floor, the edges of her robes charred from the sparks and dirtied from her inkwell that had exploded. Her books and parchments lay all around her, some papers still floating down. Her books were ruined.

She dared not look at the Slytherin table, for fear of bursting into the tears she was just barely holding back now. She would not give them the pleasure. Instead, she kept her eyes staring blankly ahead of her at the floor. Hands were suddenly upon her shoulders, pulling her to her feet, and she was swept from the Great Hall. She didn't look up at whoever her savior was, too embarrassed to make any eye contact at all.

Rebecca was led toward the dungeons, and only then did she steal a glance at who had a firm grasp upon her shoulder. It was Professor Snape. Looking back down, she kept her eyes on the floor as he led her to his office. It was damp, and a bit cold, especially considering she had ink splattered all over one side of her. Rebecca bit her lower lip as he shut the door behind them, then turned to face her.

She could feel his eyes upon her, surveying the damage, but she couldn't bring herself to look up at him. Eye contact was never her best skill. There was silence between the two of them for many moments.

"Do you know who did this to you, Miss Felan?" Professor Snape finally asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She fidgeted a little from one foot to the other. "Not for sure, sir," she whispered.

A sigh hit her ears, though it did not sound annoyed. Suddenly, Professor Snape was down at her level, his wand out. He waved it, but did not say anything, and the ink on her robes disappeared. Rebecca was lamenting the loss of her favorite, and only, ink silently in her mind.

"Well, tell me who you think it was, and we shall investigate," said Snape.

Rebecca bit her lip harder, but said, very quietly, "Malfoy."

There was a pause—Snape stared at her. She felt his eyes on her face.

"I saw him around my bag this afternoon, during our last class," she explained. "But when I looked inside, I didn't see anything there or anything missing."

"He made it invisible," muttered Snape, standing straight. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if in thought, then looked to Rebecca again. His black eyes bored into her, as if willing her to look up at him. "It seems that you will need some new supplies, Miss Felan."

He turned about and went for his desk. "I will send for new supplies tonight," he continued. Rebecca heard scribbling, and assumed he was writing a letter or a note of some sort. She couldn't look at him, not after remembering the look she had gotten from him in her first potions class.

"Thank you, Professor," she said meekly, looking at her toes.

"And I will see to Mr. Malfoy," Snape said.

Rebecca looked up at him. "Sir?"

"You don't think that I would let him go unpunished, Miss Felan?" Snape asked. He stared directly into her eyes, and she looked away immediately, uncomfortable how it felt like he was trying to see into her brain.

Rebecca shook her head. "I didn't mean to imply…" She stopped herself. "Thank you, sir."

"You don't have to go back to the Great Hall immediately, Miss Felan, if you do not wish to do so. I imagine that it would not be high on your… list of priorities at the moment." He studied her carefully. "You may have a seat, if you wish."

Rebecca looked around, and saw a lone chair sitting in front of his desk. She walked over to it and sat down, then proceeded to examine her singed robes.

"Are those the only robes you have?" asked Snape.

She shook her head. "I have two or three others," she told him. "But these were my favorite… I sewed a pocket into them just after I'd arrived... for my wand."

Snape nodded absently. "It is possible to get you replacement robes," he continued, scribbling on the parchment some more. "If you so choose." His eyes flicked up to gauge her response.

Rebecca thought a moment. "How will this be paid for, sir?"

"Through the school," answered Snape. "I'm certain the Headmaster will be able to spare a few galleons for your sake, Miss Felan—he knows that you're quite the student already."

Rebecca felt herself grow rigid. "And how would he know that, sir?"

Then she thought that, oddly enough, this was the longest conversation that she'd had with anyone (beside Harry, Ron, and Hermione) the entire time that she had been at Hogwarts.

"The professors do take note on every student that passes under their noses, particularly the muggleborns." She watched his brows raise as he said the word, then drop again, as if he were putting emphasis on the fact that he used that word instead of the other, less pleasant, one. "It is to see how well they are adjusting to life at the school, mostly. However, it is also affects how professors see certain students." He paused a moment. "You are in quite the favor with most of the staff here."

Rebecca couldn't help but smile, but she hid it quickly but ducking her head. Snape looked down at the parchment, checking it over one last time.

"I will take this to the Headmaster immediately," said Snape, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "You may either return with me to the Great Hall or go to your dormitory for the night."

"What about my things?" asked Rebecca. "My bag?"

"I will fetch what is left of your personal effects and return them to you," said Snape quickly. "I assume you will wish to… skip dinner for tonight?"

Rebecca nodded.

"Then you are dismissed, Miss Felan," said Snape, motioning with one arm towards the door.

She stood carefully, walking toward the door. It opened easily, but she turned back to look at him before stepping out, meeting his eye briefly.

"Thanks again, Professor," she said quietly, before stepping out into the corridor.

In the common room, later that night, Rebecca had planted herself in her usual corner to finish her homework. Luckily, many of her notes from her classes were just singed around the edges. The books had gotten the brunt of the explosion of fireworks because they were right next to the thing; the papers had mostly been blown about in its wake.

Professor Snape had been… not kind—she didn't think of his demeanor to her as kind. He was very professional, as if he had had to deal with this sort of thing many times in his rein as Head of House. He had been curt with her, but had provided answers that were well-informed when she had asked questions and had told her that Malfoy was going to be punished.

"Such foolishness will not be tolerated by anyone," said Snape as he had been leaving the common room. "You should receive an owl tomorrow morning with a parcel containing your new school supplies," he had said after he had turned, his black robes billowing behind him.

Now, Rebecca found herself alone with her books, as was the usual thing this time of night. The fire was crackling contentedly in the fireplace, casting warmth throughout the dark, dank common room. (It had been confirmed that it was, in fact, under the lake, hence the green glow about the place and the ever-present chill in the air.)

She thought back to the looks he had given her over the past month at the school. His eyes were always what betrayed him. It was a look of recognition—a look one only gave to someone when they have not been seen in a long, long while. It was a look of loss, of desperation. She had seen that desperate look many times in her own eyes when she had looked in a mirror, both at home and sometimes within the walls of Hogwarts.

"Don't think you'll get off that easy, _Mudblood_," a voice growled in her ear.

Rebecca froze. Malfoy had sneaked up on her while she had been lost in thought. Now he was standing not even a foot from her, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. They were all glaring at her, though Malfoy's face was rather pink from the effort.

"I have a month's worth of Friday detentions with Snape," Malfoy continued. "Four Fridays… wasted on you," he spat. "You should've kept your mouth shut."

"Get away from me, Draco," said Rebecca quietly; her hand still grasping her quill quivered slightly at his nearness.

He sneered at her. "I ought to teach you a lesson," he said.

She could hear him draw his wand. This was not good.

"Let the girl alone, Draco."

Rebecca hadn't realized that she'd shut her eyes when she heard Malfoy pulling out his wand until she opened them to look for the person that had spoke. Marcus Flint stood glaring at the three first years, arms over his chest.

"What's it to you, Flint?" Malfoy snarled, letting his wand drop to his side. He knew better than to mess with someone that much older than he, at least.

"You've embarrassed her enough today," Marcus said. "And I don't think Professor Snape would like hexing to be going on in the common room." He gave Malfoy a knowing look.

The pale boy muttered, stuffing his wand back into his cloak, glaring at Marcus as he walked away. Crabbe and Goyle followed faithfully, throwing looks at Marcus as they did.

Rebecca met Marcus's gaze, but before she could thank him, he cut her off.

"You need to work on your defenses," he told her.

That was the last she saw of anyone that night. But, instead of focusing solely on her homework, she kept her wand out and ready just beside her spare inkwell.


	9. Halloween

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.

**Author's Note:** Just in case any of you are wondering, Rebecca was born on June 27, 1980. This makes her a Cancer. I've decided that Marcus is a Taurus, and we all know (and by "we all," I mean Snape lovers) know that Snape is a Capricorn. I just thought I'd throw that out there. Thanks to my friend Jessi for making me think through all of this stuff and so much more!

**Chapter 9: Halloween**

Over two months had passed since Rebecca's arrival at Hogwarts, and she could hardly believe it. Time seemed to slip right through her hands, and it never ceased to amaze her. She spent the last bit of September and the beginning of October brushing up on her defense skills, paying more attention to Quirrell than she would have originally. He did have some useful spells, and she practiced them every spare moment that she could get. She didn't want Malfoy to catch her off-guard ever again.

Strangely, though, the boy seemed to be avoiding her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Professor Snape seemed… less than kind to him during their detention sessions together. Malfoy was never punished outright, but he was made to do tedious work, such as cleaning out Snape's storage closet or re-organizing things in his office. It was boring work that would have driven anyone out of their mind. However, he had hardly spared Rebecca even a glare since his detentions had started. She wondered what Professor Snape could have said to him to change his mind.

Halloween came, and with it, the nearly overwhelming smell of baking pumpkin. The Slytherin common room was very close to the kitchen, apparently, and the entire place smelled of pumpkins. Rebecca was certain that it would smell as such for at least another week.

She had Charms class first thing that morning, with the Ravenclaws. She hated having one of her worst subjects with the Ravenclaws—it made her feel even more inadequate than if it had just been with the Slytherins. No matter how much Rebecca seemed to practice, the charms never seemed to work exactly right for her, and she was frustrated. A few times she had wanted to throw her wand across the room in her anger, but then she would remember what Ollivander had told her, and she only pressed on harder with her practicing of charmwork.

Flitwick announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something that everyone had been dying to try since the beginning of term. Rebecca groaned. Flitwick, to make matters worse, put them into pairs to practice. Rebecca was paired with a girl from Ravenclaw. She wanted to die of shame.

"Now, don't forget the nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was extremely difficult. The Ravenclaw girl understood and executed the Charm almost immediately, at least after her second or third try. Flitwick congratulated her, awarding Ravenclaw ten points for her quick mastery of _Wingardium Leviosa_. Rebecca wanted to kill the spell, bury it, stomp on the ground, dig it up again, then hex it into oblivion.

By the end of the class, only a few more students had mastered the charm, including Draco Malfoy. She was sure he was going to rub it in her face later. Flitwick reassured them that they would continue practicing the spell until everyone in the room had gotten it right.

"We may be here for months, then," muttered Malfoy, shooting a look at Rebecca. The other Slytherins broke out into uniform snickers.

Rebecca spent the rest of the day trying to ignore Malfoy and his incessant prods at her skills in magic in their next class. It didn't help that it was History of Magic, and Binns droned on, ignoring everything else around him. Rebecca took diligent notes, pretending that she didn't hear the Slytherin snickering around her about another crack Malfoy had made at her less-than-perfect Charms skills.

When they were making their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Ron approached her.

"You haven't seen Hermione, have you?" Harry asked, his brows low over his eyes, showing his concern. Ron was doing a bad job of looking disinterested.

She shook her head. "I haven't," she admitted. "Sorry. Is something wrong?"

Harry sighed. "Ron said something that upset her earlier—"

"But true," added Ron.

"Oh," Rebecca said, understanding a little more. Ron had probably made a joke out of Hermione's intelligence. That was something that had annoyed her about Hermione at first, but the other girl had grown on her, and now, Rebecca just wished she had the Gryffindor girl's smarts.

When they were near the Great Hall, they overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender Brown (both Gryffindors) that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Ron looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall.

Hermione seemed to be the last thing on the boys' minds, but Rebecca was genuinely concerned. The one thousand live bats fluttering from the wall and ceiling while more than a thousand swooped over the table in low black clouds hardly kept her mind off of the girl. The feast appeared suddenly on golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Rebecca sat with the boys at the Gryffindor table, watching as everyone else was eating. She wasn't hungry. Just as she was about to excuse herself to go talk to Hermione, Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll—in the dungeons—though you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. Rebecca sat quietly staring as everyone panicked—was Hermione okay? It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "Lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Rebecca, go back to your table right now," he said with authority, giving the girl a look that was a mix of nastiness and someone who enjoyed his power too much. "Follow me!" he cried, rounding up the Gryffindors. "Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close to me, now. Make way, first years coming through. Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

Rebecca glared at Percy's back, grabbing the edges of Harry and Ron's robes and pulling them back from the rest of the Gryffindor first years that were following Percy blindly.

"What about Hermione?" she hissed through her teeth. "Does she know about the troll?"

Both boys had astonished looks on their faces.

"Percy better not see us," Ron snapped.

Rebecca led the way to the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin. Rebecca followed instinctively, not wanting to get caught.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Professor Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

Rebecca was wondering the same thing.

"Search me," said Ron.

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Harry said.

"What's it matter? What about—"

Rebecca was cut off with Ron's hand held up in the air.

"Can you smell something?"

A foul stench reached Rebecca's nose, and she hid it in her cloak. It was like a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seemed to clean.

And then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Ron pointed—at the end of the passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to the doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, the slouched slowly into the room.

"That's the girl's bathroom!" Rebecca whispered in a panic.

Without thinking, she darted forward, hearing the boys' footsteps close behind her. She vaulted through the open door after the troll, seeing Hermione through its legs. She was shrinking against the opposite wall, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

"Confuse it!" Harry said desperately to Ron and Rebecca, and, seizing a toap, he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead. Rebecca ran toward Hermione, attempting to pull the other girl to her feet.

"Come, run, _run_," she yelled at Hermione, but she wouldn't move. She was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind. The troll couldn't feel Harry hanging there, but even a troll will notice if you stick a long bit of wood up its nose, and Harry's wand had still been in his hand when he'd jumped—it had gone straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Harry clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Rebecca whipped out her wand. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" she cried. Across the chamber, she heard Ron yelling the same incantation.

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron and Rebecca were both standing there with their wands raised, looking at one another. Neither were sure who had actually cast the spell.

It was Hermione who spoke first.

"Is it—dead?"

"I don't think so," said Harry, "I think it's just been knocked out."

He bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lump gray glue.

"Ugh—troll boogers."

He wiped it off on the troll's trousers.

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the four of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the room, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Rebecca couldn't help but focus her eyes on him—he was her Head of House, and could choose what to do with her. She had not even lowered her wand, still breathing heavily at the confusion of who had cast the spell at the troll.

Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron, Harry, and Rebecca. She glanced at McGonagall, and couldn't remember seeing her so angry. Her lips were white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. Harry looked at Ron, who was standing with his wand in the air as well. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Snape gave Harry a swift, piercing look, then gave a similar one to Rebecca. She cringed. She wished she could put down her wand, but she found that she couldn't move.

Then a small voice came from out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Rebecca, still under the piercing gaze of Professor Snape, shook slightly, letting her wand drop slowly to her side, never taking her eyes from him. She didn't look him in the eye; she couldn't.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now," Hermione continued. "Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron… or Rebecca… or perhaps the both of them together, knocked it out with its club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Snape was now glaring at Rebecca, as if trying to force the truth from her. She finally looked away, her eyes now resting on Professor McGonagall.

"Well—in that case…" the old witch said, staring at the four of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Hermione left, giving Rebecca and the boys a comforting look.

Professor McGonagall turned to look at the remaining three students.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points, and Miss Felan earns Slytherin five as well. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

Ron and Harry hurried out of the room, and as Rebecca turned to follow their lead, Professor Snape stood in front of her.

"Miss Felan, you are to come with me immediately," he said, his voice dangerously low.

Rebecca bit her lower lip. Was she really going to get into that much trouble? She gave McGonagall a look over her shoulder, but the witch was too preoccupied with getting Quirrell to help her remove the troll from the bathroom.

Hanging her head, she followed Professor Snape back down to his office in the dungeons. It was a much longer walk than she remembered it originally being. Once they were there, Professor Snape shut the door behind them. Rebecca stared at the floor, her hands clasped in front of her, as he moved around her to sit behind his desk.

She felt his cold, dark eyes on her.

"Is what Miss Granger told Professor McGonagall true?" he snapped suddenly. "Is it, Miss Felan?"

Rebecca cringed. She hated to be yelled at.

"Yes, sir," she said quietly.

"Then why won't you look at me?"

His voice carried the same deadly-sounding tone that it had in the bathroom just a few minutes earlier. He wanted an answer, a truthful answer. His black eyes were boring into her, waiting.

"Because, sir, every time I look at you, I feel like you're looking into my mind," said Rebecca quietly. "It makes me uncomfortable, Professor."

She stole a glance up at him through the top of her eyes, looking out through some of her red hair that was falling in her face. The Potions Master had a surprised look about him, as if he couldn't believe that she had just said what she had. His lips went into a very thin line.

"Then tell me, Miss Felan," he said, his voice shaking only slightly, as if he were holding back a range of emotions, "in your own words, what happened."

Rebecca looked up, turning her entire face toward him. He took in her face in its entirety, but avoided looking in her eyes. That made her feel a little more comfortable.

"I got Harry and Ron to come with me to look for Hermione," she said. "We noticed that she was gone. I didn't want to try and look for her by myself, what with the troll around."

"Quite," Snape said, wrapping his fingers around his chin in thought. He still didn't look into her eyes. His gaze seemed focused on the ground in front of her.

"We overheard that she might have been in the girl's bathroom—some Gryffindor girls in our year were talking about it—so we looked there first," Rebecca continued. "When we found her, the troll was about to, well… finish her off, as Hermione said. We acted the only way we knew how."

"You and Mr. Weasley both had your wands out," interrupted Snape. "Which one of you cast the spell that knocked him out?"

Rebecca paused, taking her bottom lip into her mouth again, dropping her gaze in shame. "I don't know, sir," she said. "Ron and I both used_Wingardium Leviosa_ at the same time."

"Give me your wand," said Snape, rising from his desk.

"Sir?"

"Give me your wand, Miss Felan, and we shall discover which of you performed the incantation," said Snape again slowly, coming around his desk and holding out his hand.

Rebecca reached into her pocket and retrieved her wand, pulling it out and handing it over hesitantly. Snape snatched it up as soon as it touched his fingertips, and he brought out his own wand. It was black, just like the rest of his features. Rather fitting, Rebecca decided. Without a word, Snape put the tips of the wands together, then cast a spell by speaking no words. Snape's wand suddenly began floating in the air lazily. He smirked, snatching it from the inch or so that it floated above his head, then presented Rebecca's wand back to her.

"An additional five points to Slytherin for a very well-performed_Wingardium Leviosa_ charm," he murmured.

Rebecca took her wand back in awe, looking at it.

"How did you do that, sir?" she asked, her brows furrowed, trying to think of everything that she'd read that could explain it.

"That's something that you won't be learning until your sixth year, at least, Miss Felan," Snape told her, going behind his desk again. He splayed his fingertips over the top of it and leaned upon them slightly, looking back to her. "Now go back to the common room before you miss the end of the feast."

"Sir?"

"You are _dismissed_… Miss Felan," Snape said, sounding the words out as if she were going deaf.

Rebecca nodded, turning to leave the office. She made her way to the common room, and spoke the password to enter. There was a great chattering going on, and it didn't make a difference that she had entered the room.

"And where have you been?" said an accusatory voice from behind her.

She turned to face Draco Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy had his arms crossed over his chest and was staring at her smugly, while Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him looking dumb as rocks, as was the usual thing for them.

"Chasing off after the troll, were you?" Malfoy asked with a roll of his eye.

"Yeah, actually," Rebecca said with a shrug, turning to go get some food.

"…What did you just say?"

She turned to face him with a raised eyebrow. "You heard me, Malfoy," she said. "I defeated a troll with the help of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley." She smirked. "Look in the Slytherin Hourglass tomorrow morning in the Great Hall, and you'll see ten more points awarded to Slytherin… They're mine."

She turned, leaving Malfoy babbling, trying to think of a hefty come-back for what she had said. She got a plateful of food and ate it in her usual corner of the common room.

Needless to say, she slept well that night.


	10. Quidditch

**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, don't make money off of them, though my character is original. And yes, most of the stuff in here that sounds familiar is most likely written by J.K., wonderful, amazing woman that she is.

**Author's Note:** I know, I know… I'm a failure at not updating. I apologize. I've just been trying to think of what to do with this next chapter, and how I want to continue this story… I'm not sure what I'm doing with this right now, so bear with me.

**Chapter 10: Quidditch**

Rebecca felt more confidence in herself as the year slowly changed into November. Word had gotten around of her being the defeater of the troll that had entered the castle, though she had never said a word to anyone else about it. She never mentioned it around her new friends; she didn't want to make Ron feel bad. The Slytherins watched her now with a wary eye, and Marcus Flint had nodded at her once or twice, but never anything more. Malfoy and his cronies were leaving her well alone, now that they understood the extent of her power.

Her time was spent with the three Gryffindors, mostly. They were helping Harry to prepare for his first Quidditch match, which just happened to be against Slytherin. Rebecca felt a bit of a nervous tension, and wondered from time to time where she should sit during the match. She tried to push the thought away, to save it for game day.

The day of the match had finally arrived, and early on Saturday morning, she awoke and went into the Entrance Hall to meet Ron and Hermione to pick a place in the stands so they could watch the match together. She felt a bit nervous, being the only Slytherin to ever dare to sit with Gryffindors during a Quidditch match. However, Ron and Hermione were keeping her thoughts occupied on a discussion about Snape.

"He took Harry's copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ yesterday," Hermione quickly explained as they made their way out to the pitch. The air around them was practically frozen, or at least it felt like it. "When Harry went to get it back last night, well…" She looked to Ron.

"He went to the staff room, and Snape and Filch are in there together," Ron said quickly, his nose and ears a bit red from the cold. "Snape's leg is torn up, from what Harry told us, and Filch was giving him bandages."

"He said something about not being able to keep an eye on all the heads at once," Hermione finished slowly.

Rebecca's memory went straight back to when they had seen the Cerberus. Her eyes widened. "What d'you think this means?" she asked slowly.

Hermione gave Ron a worried look before answering. "We think Snape let the troll inside the castle, to make a diversion so he could get whatever the Cerberus is supposed to be hiding."

Rebecca paused a moment, thinking it over. She couldn't imagine why Snape would do such a thing.

"I don't think he'd do that," she said, firmly. She gave the others a look that dared them to challenge her.

"That's what I originally thought, too, Rebecca," Hermione said quickly. "But, you have to admit, it does seem a bit… strange."

Rebecca shrugged. "We don't have enough information, Hermione," she said. "I just don't see why Professor Snape would do such a thing."

Ron was giving her a sideways glance, a look that was uncomforting to Rebecca. She stayed silent until they had reached their place in the stands.

* * *

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Rebecca was in the exact middle of the stands, between Ron and Hermione. She was trying her best not to think about how high they were off the ground, but it became extremely hard when a flock of birds flew by them, or perched about them in the stands.

There was also Neville, Seamus, and Dean up in the top row with them, and along with Ron and Hermione, they had all painted a large banner on one of the sheets that Scabbers had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Dean, who was good at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors. Hermione explained all of this to Rebecca very quickly, and although she admired the work, she couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't been invited to join in for the making of it. She tried her best not to think about it.

Soon the match was getting ready to start, with the two different teams walking out onto the field together. Rebecca watched at the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, she was told, shook hands with Marcus Flint. She could tell that Madam Hooch was talking to the teams, but couldn't hear a word of what was being said. Then, the teams mounted their brooms, and she heard Hooch's whistle blow shrilly over the wind.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

"And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what an excellent Chaser that girl is, rather attractive, too—"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Rebecca couldn't help but laugh at the woman's expression.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve—back to Johnson, and—no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes—Flint flying like an eagle up there—he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle—that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and—OUCH—that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger—Quaffle taken by the Slytherins—that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger—sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which—nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes—she's really flying—dodges a speeding Bludger—the goals posts are ahead—come on, now Angelina—Keeper Bletchley dives—misses—GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Rebecca felt a wave of excitement go through her as she cheered on the Gryffindors. Thankfully, she didn't think any of the Slytherins saw her now, but they would probably ask her whereabouts later.

"Budge up there, move along."

"Hagrid!"

Everyone on the top row had to squeeze together to give Hagrid rnough space to join them.

"Bin watchin' from me hut," said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck. "But it isn't the same as bein' in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?"

"Nope," said Ron. "Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"Kept outa trouble, though, that's somethin'," said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Rebecca felt nervous with Hagrid so near. The giant man had caught her off guard before, and now she wondered what he thought of her being there. So far, he hadn't seemed to notice her. But he was, clearly, a good friend of Hermione, Ron, and Harry's. She tried to focus on the game, but she felt very squished in her current position.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the—wait a moment—was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear. Rebecca watched as Harry dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch—all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs, Rebecca saw. But she also caught a glimpse of green and silver streaking toward him. She stood just as Marcus Flint purposefully blocked Harry, making the smaller boy run into him with a loud WHAM!

Gryffindors roared with rage as Rebecca stared, wide-eyed, at what had just happened. Harry looked like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. She watched as Flint soared off, a triumphant grin on his face. She scowled at him.

"Send him off, red! Red card!" Dean Thomas was yelling.

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Dean furiously. "In soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, Dean," Ron reminded him.

Hagrid, however, was on Dean's side.

"They ought change the rules. Flint coulda knocked Harry outa the air."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So—after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"_Jordan, I'm warning you_—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor taken by Spinnet, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue to play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Rebecca was watching Harry carefully, also trying to keep an eye on Flint. She saw him dodge a Bludger that was dangerously close to his head, when his broom gave a sudden, violent lurch. She gasped, tugging on Hermione's cloak and pointing at Harry as the lurching continued.

"What's happening to his broom?" she asked anxiously.

Harry's broom was now zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

"I don't know!" Hermione said, getting Ron's attention now.

"Slytherin in possession—Flint with the Quaffle—passes Spinnet—passed Bell—hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose—only joking, Professor—Slytherin score—oh no…"

The Slytherins were cheering. Harry's broom was carrying him slowly higher, away from the game, jerking and twitching as it went.

Suddenly, people were pointing up at Harry all over the stands. Hagrid was staring at him intently through his binoculars.

"He can't have lost control of his broom," Hagrid was muttering.

Harry's broom had started to roll over and over, with him only just managing to hold on. Then the whole crowd gasped. The broom had given a wild jerk and Harry swung off it. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand.

"Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?" Seamus whispered.

"Can't have," Hagrid said, his voice shaking. "Can't nothing interfere with broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Numbus Two Thousand."

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Ron, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape—look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Rebecca watched him, then took them from him after a few moments. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something—jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

Rebecca lowered the binoculars, staring where Snape was across the crowd. He didn't look remotely angry, or like he was trying to hurt anyone. His features were desperate, his hands clasped tightly together in his lap.

"What should we do?" Ron asked.

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione disappeared. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good—every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron whispered desperately.

Rebecca was watching the stand across the way, then tore the binoculars back from Ron's grasp. Hermione had knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front, without even stopping to apologize. She then made Snape's robes catch into bright blue flames.

It took the Potions Master a moment to realize he was on fire. Rebecca watched as he stood up suddenly, then the fire was gone just as it had appeared. She turned the binoculars back up to Harry, and saw that he was now able to clamber back onto his broom.

"Neville, you can look!" Ron said. Neville had been sobbing into Hagrid's jacket for the last five minutes.

Harry was speeding towards the ground when the crowd saw him clasp his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the field on all fours—coughed, and something gold fell into his hands.

"He's got the Snitch!" Rebecca called, still watching him through the binoculars.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it!" she heard Flint howling before the crowd erupted into a thunderous roar, at least from the Gryffindor's side.

Flint's yelling made no difference—Harry hadn't broken any rules and Lee Jordan was still happily shouting the results—Gryffindor had won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

* * *

Just minutes later, Rebecca was following Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, and Harry back to Hagrid's hut, where the giant man was making Harry a strong batch of tea.

"It was Snape," Ron was explaining. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid, who hadn't heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. "Why would Snape do something' like that?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked to one another, wondering what to tell him. Rebecca sat, shaking her head. Snape had not been the one to curse Harry's broomstick, she had decided firmly.

"I found out something about him," Harry told Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he said.

"_Fluffy_?" Rebecca asked. It was the first time she had said something in Hagrid's presence.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"No he's not," Rebecca finally said, her brows furrowed in anger. "Whatever it is, Snape wouldn't steal it. He's got no reason to! He didn't curse Harry's broomstick, either."

"Exactly," said Hagrid, giving Rebecca a look. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Hermione, giving Rebecca a harsh look. "I know a jinx when I see one, Hagrid, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now listen to me, all four of yeh— yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel—"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Rebecca rushed from Hagrid's hut in a fury, not wanting to be around the three Gryffindors anymore. It was though they were out to get Snape, when they had very little proof indeed that he had done anything wrong. She knew she wouldn't be able to stay mad at them for very long—they were, after all, the only friends she had at the school—but she just couldn't stand being around them any longer.

Her face was flushed when she growled the password to the common room. When she entered, she felt the weight of the silence settle over her, and looked up. She was facing most of the Quidditch team, all of whom were staring at her, especially Marcus Flint. He approached her, and Rebecca groped for her wand.

"I heard that you're friends with Potter," Marcus said to her. "That's why you helped save that other little Mudblood from the troll on Halloween."

"Her name's Hermione," Rebecca said through clenched teeth.

Flint raised an eyebrow. "Where are your defenses?" he asked, his tone mocking.

Her hand clenched visibly around her wand, which rested in the inside pocket of her robes. She waited to see what Flint was going to do.

"You cheered on the Gryffindors today," Flint said, his gravelly voice very quiet. "That was a bad choice on your part. You'll never get anywhere in this house if you hang round the likes of them. You had just gotten my respect when Professor Snape told me you'd defeated that troll on your own."

"He told you that?" Rebecca asked, her brows furrowed with her being on-edge, and her confusion.

"He asked me to help spread it around, yeah," Flint said with a shrug of his shoulders. "He didn't want another episode that happened in the Great Hall to happen again, if you catch my drift. He thought it might help you." He paused a moment, looking her over. "I just thought I'd let you know that your chances were lost as soon as you sat with the Gryffindors during our Quidditch match."

"You would've lost anyway," Rebecca said quietly. "Your tactics were terrible and underhanded, at best."

Flint scowled. "Like you know anything about Quidditch, Mudblood," he growled, turning and leaving her grasping her wand.

Rebecca thought it best that she make her way to her dormitory, where at least the girls would leave her be. She thought it best, now, if she started carrying Ambrose around with her instead of leaving him in his cage all day on her bed in the dormitory. She didn't know what she would do if anything happened to him.


	11. Author's Note

Author's Note: So… I have decided that I no longer am enjoying the process of writing this story

**Author's Note: **So… I have decided that I no longer am enjoying the process of writing this story. Mostly due to my long leaves of absences and other things happening in my life. Also, though this was originally intended to take place during the time that Harry Potter and his friends were in school, I have decided to try and new means and place Rebecca during the Marauders' Era. I might come back to this story, and will leave it up so that I can make that decision later on if I so choose. For now, though, I think starting over will help spark my creativity to get going again.

I apologize for the inconvenience, but at least you'll have something new and interesting to read. It hopefully won't take me as long to update the new story, as I'll actually want to write it, which is always a plus.

Thank you for your understanding, my faithful readers, as well as my new ones. I hope you continue to follow my writings.

JJ


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